The Misplaced Potter
by chubby redburn
Summary: AU OOC. A tale in which Dumbledore makes a tiny mistake that changes Harry's life. COMPLETED
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction. No claims of originality are made and there is no expectation of material gain. The rights to all recognizable characters and the general Harry Potter universe are retained by J. K. Rowling and her publishers, Bloomsbury Books and Scholastic Press. Does this satisfy everyone?

The Misplaced Potter

Chapter 1

_In which Harry is left on a doorstep_

A grief stricken Albus Dumbledore suddenly appeared on a well-lit street named Privet Drive. He briefly squinted at the unexpected brightness of the streetlamps. He pulled from his robes a small device that resembled a cigarette lighter but when he pointed it at the nearest streetlamp, the lamp immediately went dark. He proceeded to turn off every streetlamp on Privet Drive.

It was only when the street was in near total darkness did Dumbledore survey his surrounding. He peered intently over half-moon spectacles searching for one individual.

"I'm over here, Headmaster," Minerva McGonagall called from down the lane. In the quiet of early morning, Dumbledore joined her beside a low brick wall in front of a rather ordinary house. A shaggy brown dog watched them from under a bush where she was contentedly chewing on a piece of rope.

"Is it true?" Professor McGonagall asked. "Even from here, I have heard some of the celebrations but I still can not believe it to be so. Is he gone?"

Dumbledore sighed deeply. "Yes," he said sadly. "It appears that Voldemort is gone. His attempt on young Harry's life destroyed him."

"And what they are saying about James and Lily?"

A sob escaped Dumbledore. He quickly reached into his robe pulling out a large pale green handkerchief. Minerva placed a gentle hand on his shoulder as he wiped his eyes.

"Yes," Dumbledore said thickly. "Voldemort killed both of them. Two more souls freed from their bodies. Too many. Too, too many friends I have lost because of Tom's lust for power."

"Where is Harry now?" Minerva asked.

"We got him from the rubble of the house before anyone else got there," Dumbledore said. "Hagrid is watching over him, at the moment. That brings me to your task. What have you observed?"

Minerva shrugged. "They are more than pleasant enough. They are obviously in love with each other. A little older then I expected especially the husband. He scratched my head as he left the house this morning. He returned within two hours so I believe that he is retired. The wife gave me a saucer of milk and a piece of bacon and shooed the dog away when it barked at me."

Despite his grief, Dumbledore had to chuckle. Only an animagus could speak so causally about being in another form but the small smile that came to his lips quickly fell away. Something did not seem right but he could not put a finger on just what was bothering him.

"Where are we exactly?" he asked.

Professor McGonagall peered at her friend and colleague intently. "We are in Little Whining in Surrey. This house is number fourteen Privet Drive."

"This is where I sent you?"

"Yes, Albus. Here is the note you handed me," she replied pulling a piece of parchment from a pocket. "Are you feeling well?"

Albus Dumbledore stared at the piece of parchment. His own neat spidery handwriting clearly spelled out the address in Surrey where they were standing. He shook his head and dismissed his misgivings as grief and fatigue.

"I'm sorry, Minerva," Dumbledore said. "I didn't mean to question your word."

"No need to apologize, Aldus," she replied. "It has been a rough day and a half for you. Have you slept at all?"

"No, I haven't," Albus admitted.

Minerva did not want to express her misgivings about the enterprise to the Headmaster when he was clearly under much strain but it would soon be too late.

"Are you certain that leaving Harry in the care of muggles is wise?" she asked. "There are dozens of wizarding families who would gladly take young Harry in. I would myself. There would be worse places to grow up than Hogwarts."

"Undoubtedly, you would make a fine mother, Minerva," Dumbledore said. "But if he grew up in the wizarding community, he would have to deal with his fame from this day forward. It would be too much to handle and would likely turn his head. No, its best he grew up in anonymity. Besides, they are his family. The only family he has left."

Minerva McGonagall nodded her acceptance of the Headmaster's decision although she was not fully reconciled with his choice. Yet, she had never known him to be wrong on any important matter. Inwardly she sighed and then frowned.

"What is that noise?" she asked.

They turned to westward. A dark figure was falling from the starry sky accompanied by an increasingly ear splitting racket. The brown dog jumped to her feet and barked twice. Then she turned and run to her backyard.

Rubeus Hagrid, astride an enormous motorcycle, dropped to the street and skidded to a halt in from of Dumbledore and McGonagall.

"May I suggest a fanfare of trumpets for your next arrival?" McGonagall said archly.

Dumbledore looked about him at the windows of the nearby houses. He saw no moving curtains nor did any lamps shine from any room.

"No harm done," he said. "Do you have him, Hagrid?"

Hagrid reached under his coat and extracted a large basket. An infant slept contentedly in the folds of a wool blanket. He looked peaceful despite of a raw livid lightening bolt-shaped scar on his forehead.

"The killing curse left its mark," Dumbledore said when he noticed the horrified expression on McGonagall's face. "He'll wear that scar for his lifetime but he is alive."

"Why would anyone try to kill a baby?" McGonagall asked mystified.

"Tom had his reasons but this is not the place to get into them," Dumbledore said briskly. "Hagrid, do you know where to find Sirius Black?"

"This is his bike," Hagrid answered him. "I have to return it to him."

"Good," Dumbledore said with satisfaction. "Do so now and tell him to come to Hogwarts immediately. Tell him that it is my order. If he balks, kindly knock him out and haul him to Hogwarts personally."

"Yes, sir," Hagrid said kicking the motorcycle back into life. With a roar, he quickly rose from the ground and disappeared into the dark sky.

"I fear that Sirius will attempt something impetuous and we are going to need every remaining member of the Order in the next few weeks," Dumbledore said as he and McGonagall slowly walked up the drive of number fourteen.

"But with you know who gone, where is the danger?' McGonagall asked.

"There are still many death eaters on the loose," Dumbledore said. "They will go mad with grief and strike out like a molting snake. The next few months will be dangerous ones which is all the more reason to have Harry out of harm's way."

Dumbledore's eyes carefully ensured that the door's swing was inward and then placed the wicker basket down gently on the doorstep of number fourteen. He placed in the basket a large envelope.

"That will explain all they need to know," Dumbledore said as he straightened up. "It lacks a certain courtesy but it is best to limit our contacts with the average muggles."

He and McGonagall stood in silence for a few moments staring at the sleeping infant. Each of them wondering about the baby's new life and remembering his parents. The brown dog peered cautiously around the corner. She waggled her head at the unfamiliar scents but the fright she had received kept her from approaching the humans. Finally, Dumbledore sighed audibly.

"There's nothing more to be done here," he said. "We might as well join the celebrations."

"I don't feel like celebrating anything," McGonagall replied sadly. "And you need to get to sleep. Return the streetlamps to working condition and let's go home."

Dumbledore clasped McGonagall's hand and the walked out into the middle of the lane. He pointed the device at each streetlamp in turn. When Privet Drive was fully ablaze with light once again, the couple disappeared.

Seeing that she was alone, the brown dog slowly approached the basket. She sniffed at Harry and his blanket. Slowly the dog walked around the basket. Her eyes rested on the envelope. After another precautionary sniff, she grabbed the envelope in her teeth and trotted back to her favorite spot under the bush by the walk.

The dog spent the next half hour slowly shredding and chewing the heavy parchment until there was nothing left save a soggy mess well beyond anyone's ability to read.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1

The Misplaced Potter

Chapter 2

_In which Harry is discovered_

"Bless my soul! Candace, come here!"

Candace Winters carefully placed the bowl that she was whipping eggs in on the counter. She was a tall graceful woman whose dark brown hair sported a few streaks of white. Most people thought her to be a handsome forty-year old woman. If Candace bothered to correct their misconception, they were astonished to discover that she, in fact, was sixty-three, the mother of four daughters and a grandmother to seven. She spotted her husband kneeling in the open doorway.

"What is it, John?" she asked.

"A baby."

"A what?" Candace asked as she stopped behind John. Looking down, she saw the infant. His green eyes where opened and he was moving his arm giving the impression that he was waving at her.

"Oh, dear," Candace exclaimed spying the livid scar on the child's forehead. "Who would cut a baby so?"

John lifted the basket and his wife led them into the lounge. Like his wife, John Winters was tall and handsome and moved with a grace that belied his seventy years. The full head of silvery hair did not fool anyone as to his age but lent to him a distinguished air. Candace had seen more then one pair of female eyes give her husband a long second glance as they walked through the village.

"One reads about babies left on doorsteps in novels but who would have thought that it actually happens," John said as he sat the wicker basket on the coffee table. "At least, we have some formula on hand thanks to Caroline."

"I believe that she left her nappy bag here yesterday also," Candace said.

"As forgetful as she is, I wouldn't be surprised if this is her baby's twin that she failed to mention," John chuckled then stopped. "I believe that we have need of that nappy bag, dear."

"Hand her here," his wife said.

"No, I'll take care of her," he said. "I still remember how and I don't fancy having my breakfast cooked by a chef who just had the diaper duty."

"Well, I finish breakfast then," she said. "The bag's in the front closet."

Candace was setting the dishes on the table when her husband came downstairs cooing to the baby in his arms. She smiled remembering the infancy of their daughters. John proved to be a conscientious father who willingly embraced all the chores of child rearing long before the modern male movement made it fashionable to do so.

"I have a bottle warmed up," Candace said. "I'm sure that she is hungry."

"He's a boy," John said.

"Really, now,"

"Oh, yes," John laughed. "I had to jump aside as the little artilleryman let fly in the middle of the change."

Candace took the baby from her husband. Settling down at the table, she fed the little boy. John sat next to her and watched as he ate his breakfast. He had sincerely enjoyed being father and had found out that being a grandfather was just as good if not better in some ways. He was very grateful that Candace had wanted a large family. He knew that each couple was free to make their own choice but he could not understand the modern view that one child per family was best. His life was so full with the four girls growing up. Each day was a blessing.

"I suppose that we have to call the police," Candace said as she carefully wiped the baby's mouth.

"I was thinking about Danielle," John said.

Candace paused. The doctors had told their eldest daughter that she could never carry a child to term and her five miscarriages appeared to prove their diagnoses correct. She and Robert tried to put a brave face on the situation but Candace knew how much it grieved her daughter.

"Is that legal?" she finally asked her husband.

"I don't know but as my brother always says, if you want to do something questionable get yourself a lawyer," John said rising from the table. "After being a solicitor for fifty years I'm sure that if there is a way, he will either know of it or can find it one."

John sat down on the couch and dialed his brother at home. Simon was semi-retired, leaving most of the casework to his two sons but as much as John trusted his nephews, he wanted the old legal beagle for this matter.

"Hello, Simon," John said. "I have something interesting for you."

Candace cuddled the infant in her arms. His green eyes shone up at her briefly, before he closed them and fell to sleep.

"Well, young man," Candace said quietly. "If I know Simon, you are going to be my grandson."


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1

The Misplaced Potter

Chapter 3

_In which Dumbledore discovers his error_

Arabella Figg was sitting on a sofa in the headmaster's office at Hogwarts when she dropped her bombshell.

"What do you mean he's not there?" Albus Dumbledore roared in a panic. He was instantly remorseful when he saw the frighten look on Arabella Figg's face. "I'm very sorry, Mrs. Figg. I didn't mean to shout at you. Please forgive me."

Mrs. Figg wearily nodded at the powerful wizard. She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

"I forgive you, Professor Dumbledore," she said in a still shaky voice. "I'm sure that my news was a bit of a shock for you."

"You have a gift for understatement, Arabella," Professor McGonagall said from a chair across from Mrs. Figg.

"Let us review the facts one more time to be sure that we are all together on this," Dumbledore said in a measured tone. "There is no boy living at number fourteen Privet Drive. You are sure of this?"

"Yes, Professor, I am," Mrs. Figg said patiently. "I have babysat for them on several occasions. There are only the two little girls there ages seven and four."

"Their grandchildren?" Professor McGonagall asked.

"Grandchildren?" Mrs. Figg exclaimed. "Certainly not. The Barkleys are barely old enough to have children the ages they do."

"The Barkleys?" Dumbledore said. "No wonder we are confused. Mrs. Figg, I was asking after the Dursleys."

Mrs. Figg looked at the two professors in confusion. "You asked about number fourteen Privet Drive."

Professor Dumbledore nodded as fear began to crawl up his spine. "The Dursleys do not live at number fourteen?"

"No," Mrs. Figg replied. "They live at number four."

Minerva caught a brief glimpse of the Dumbledore's horror-stricken face before he buried it in his hands. She waited for him to say something but as the silence lengthened uncomfortably, Minerva spoke up.

"What can you tell us about number fourteen," She asked. "When I was there ten years ago an older couple occupied the house."

"That would have been the Winters, John and Candace," Mrs. Figg said. "He was ever so handsome and would you believe that she was nearly his age? She died about three years ago. Something with her blood went wrong, I believe. Mr. Winters moved in with one of his daughters after that and sold the house. One couple lived there briefly but they were divorced and after them came the Barkleys."

"Arabella, I don't want to appear insensitive to your condition but can you tell me what a muggle would do if they found a baby on their doorstep?" Professor McGonagall asked.

"I've known you for too long, Minerva, to believe that you would hold me being a squib against me," Mrs. Figg answered with a smile. "As to your question, likely it is that they would call social services especially a couple like the Winters who would not be the types to adopt a children."

"They would not adopt a child?" Dumbledore asked coming out of his stupor.

"No," Mrs. Figg answered. "They had several daughters and a host of grandchildren. They would treat the babe well but they would turn him over to the muggle authorities."

"No chance that Harry is at the Dursley's?" Professor McGonagall asked.

"None whatsoever," Mrs. Figg assured her. "And it's a blessing that he isn't if their own son is any indication. If there was ever a boy born that was heading for prison, it is that son of theirs. If Harry was there, he'd probably be as much of a teddie as Dudley Dursley."

"Or cowered into near uselessness," McGonagall said looking over at Dumbledore. "So where does that leave us?"

"At the beginning of a long search," Dumbledore said. He looked haggard but Minerva heard the determination in his voice. "Mrs. Figg, I must apologize to you again. I sent you vague instructions. I'm afraid that I wasted of your time."

"I have no complaints," she replied. "What do you wish for me to do next?'

"At the moment, nothing," he answered her as he rose from the chair. "You can return to your own home but I will stay in contact with you. I fear that the dark times will return and the Order of the Phoenix will be needed once again."

Rising also, Mrs. Figg said. "You can find me in Little Whinging. I may be getting on and may be a squib but you know that you can depend on me."

Professor Dumbledore escorted Mrs. Figg to the hallway. "I know that I can and that's why I feel so badly about shouting at you. Minerva will send you through the floo, Mrs. Figg. Thank you for coming here."

"And after I get Arabella home?" McGonagall asked.

"I'm going to London," Dumbledore replied. "I need to talk to Sirius and get him started on the search. If we want Harry here in time to begin school, we have only a year in which to find him. Mind the shop while I'm gone, won't you?"

Twenty minutes later, Minerva McGonagall entered her own apartment in Hogwarts Castle overlooking the lake. A short girl with blue eyes and jet-black hair darted across the room and hugged her around the waist.

"Hi, Mum," the girl said happily.

Minerva bent down and kissed her daughter on the top of her head.

"Did you have a good time today, Maggie?" she asked.

"Just super," Maggie replied.

Minerva maneuvered her daughter to the sitting room as Maggie prattled on about her day in Hogsmeade with her best friends Bess and Bridget MacNarney. Maggie said nothing that anyone else would have considered earth shattering. It was just about what she had seen and about the seemingly purposeless games that girls play but for Minerva McGonagall the high point of her day was the time that she spent with her daughter.

She had offered to raise Harry Potter but the headmaster would not consider it. His comments on her ample fitness to be a mother, however, had planted a seed in her mind. The Death Eaters had left many orphans so she adopted a baby girl several months after they left Harry on that doorstep in Surrey. Thinking about Harry caused her to frown, a look that Maggie caught.

"Is something wrong, mum?" she asked.

Minerva smiled at her daughter. "Yes, dearest, there is something wrong," she answered lightly. "But there is always something wrong. That is the way of this world but you have no need worrying about such problems. I was thinking that with tomorrow being Saturday, we should go to the cinema. Perhaps Bess and Bridget's mother will allow them to join us."

"That would be super," Maggie gushed.

"It is settled then," Minerva said. "Come, let's wash up. We shall see Mrs. MacNarney and then have dinner in the village."


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1

The Misplaced Potter

Chapter 4

_In which we meet Henry John Porter_

Early on an August morning, a father and son were leaning against a white rail fence watching horses in a meadow. Several colts pranced about in the dew-laden grasses of the pasture. Robert Porter, a beefy bald fifty-five year old man, had been a trainer of horses for his entire life, as had his father and grandfather before him. He was now passing on that knowledge of horses to his own son, Henry John Porter. Young Henry soaked up the lessons readily but what set him apart from the hundreds of other kids growing up on horse farms around Kentucky and Indiana was a seeming second sight when it came to realizing the potential that a foal had within it. Since he was six, he had spotted three stakes winners that no one else had given a second glance. Mr. Porter was an excellent trainer and a competent manager but it was Henry's gift that allowed Franklin Stables to acquire its fine reputation.

Mr. Porter sighed in disappointment. He was singularly unimpressed with the colts even if several had solid lineages.

"What do you think of them, Henry?" he asked his son.

Henry readjusted the blue and white _Indianapolis Colts _ball cap on his head. He was a short stocky boy who had turned eleven only on the previous day. Intelligent green eyes looked over the pasture through a pair of glasses.

"Dog food," he said. Henry's voice carried the soft, musical overtones of Kentucky although he had been born in England. Understandable since the Porters had moved to the United States when Henry was less then two years old. Mr. and Mrs. Porter retained their English accents, southern in the case of Henry's mom and midlands for Mr. Porter but Henry naturally spoke like the kids with whom he went to school.

"Well, maybe that's not entirely fair," Henry said after a moment. "That gray filly might be worth investing in as a brood mare if the price was cheap enough."

"Yes, I agree with you, son," Richard Porter said. "I hate to say so but Breakheart Stables has gone to the dogs since Old Man Matthews passed away."

"Mr. Jamison thinks highly of that chestnut," Henry stated.

"Yes, he does," answered Mr. Porter dryly.

Henry said nothing more about the matter. He knew how his dad felt about Mr. Jamison and he knew that Mr. Jamison loathed the Englishman who was both trainer and manager of Franklin Stables.

Eli Jamison was Mr. Franklin's son-in-law. He was an arrogant man whose confidence in his opinions about horses vied with his lack of knowledge of horseflesh. The dislike Eli Jamison felt for only increased after he had purchased a stallion against the advice of Robert Porter. The stallion proved to be a very expensive bust.

Mrs. Tamara Jamison was even worse in Mr. Porter's mind because she saw the stable only in terms of the status that it brought her in society. She cared nothing for horses or horseracing. They were simply a means of getting her photograph in the newspapers and getting invitations to galas or memberships on various boards.

The Jamisons were a nuisance at the moment but Mr. Porter could work around them and keep Franklin Stables in top-notch condition. The troublesome thing to Mr. Porter was that Mr. Franklin, a man he genuinely liked and respected, was rapidly declining in health. He had not been a young man when he had hired Mr. Porter and the intervening years had not been kind to him. Mr. Porter knew that it would not be too long before he was searching for a new position.

Porter, _pere et fils_, turned from the colts. They slowly made their way down the gravel road to where they had left their truck. It was a sunny day. A light breeze was blowing pushing clouds across the early morning sky but it carried with it the notice that it was going to be a hot day.

They had ridden in silence for several miles as the Kentucky countryside passed by their windows. The only sound other then the wind and an occasional passing car was the oldies rock and roll that poured from the radio. The Everly Brothers were singing _Bye Bye Love _when Mr. Porter turned to his son.

"Henry, what would you think about moving back to England?" he asked.

"I go where you and mom go," Henry answered simply.

"I realize that, son," said Mr. Porter. "But what I'm asking is how you would feel about such a move."

Henry turned his eyes from the roadside and looked at his father with a ghost of a smile. "I like it here in Kentucky but if we move back to England that would be okay. We're Englishmen, aren't we, even if I don't talk like one. I sorta figured that one of the reasons that we visit England two or three times a year was your and mom's way of reminding me of that."

Mr. Porter laughed heartily. "I don't know why I don't just tell you my motives. You always decipher my intent anyway. You're a good boy, Henry, and I know I don't tell you often enough but I love you."

"I love you too, Dad,"

The rest of the journey to the Porters' house passed in warm, companionable silence. Henry and his father were both the type of people that could spend the entire day together and think that the two dozen words that they spoke to each other was plenty of conversation.

Mrs. Danielle Porter stepped out into the sunlight when she heard the truck come rattling up the drive. She had hoped that Robert had broached the subject of returning to England with Henry. She was afraid that Henry's attachment to America might be too strong to make such a move anything but easy for him.

Henry had come so late into her life. She was already forty-one years old when she and Robert adopted the baby boy abandoned on her parents' doorstep thanks her Uncle Simon's legal shenanigans. After all, of her heartache, she finally had a child in her life.

With the child came the worries. She worried about being too indulgent or too strict with Henry John. When it came time to tell him that he was adopted, she had worried about his reaction. She worried about him being around such huge animals everyday. Nevertheless, all of the worries were overshadowed by the enormous love that Henry had brought into her life.

A large black dog came ambling around the corner of the house. He sat down beside Mrs. Porter and watched the truck skid to a stop.

"You're still here I see," she said as she scratched behind one of his ears. The dog wagged his tail twice but gave no other indication that he had heard her.

"Where did the dog come from?" Mr. Porter asked as he stepped out of the truck.

"I don't know. He appeared out of nowhere about two hours ago," answered Mrs. Porter. "He has no collar but he's well fed and very friendly."

Henry squatted down before the dog.

"How ya doin', boy?" he asked as he patted him.

The dog abruptly raised his snort knocking Henry's cap off his head.

"Hey, easy there, boy," Henry laughed pushing his hair from his eyes.

The dog stared intently into Henry's face. Suddenly the dog began to prance around Henry barking in an almost joyous manner. Henry stood and watched the dog kick up the dust in the drive. The dog put his front paws on Henry and licked his face from chin to forehead.

"Goodness! What on Earth has gotten into him?" Mrs. Porter asked.

Mr. Porter kissed his wife on the cheek. "I don't know but he likes Henry."

The dog unexpectedly gave out a long howl and then ran into the trees behind the Porters' house. He was quickly out of view.

"That was weird," said Henry wiping the dog slobber from his face.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: See chapter 1

The Misplaced Potter

Chapter 5

_In which plans are made_

At his invitation, Sirius Black poured himself a glass of the headmaster's best cognac and then he sank into an overstuffed chair with a sigh of contentment. He was with Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall in the headmaster's office at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The long journey to Scotland from America had nearly exhausted him, as had the intense thirteen-month search for Harry Potter.

So much time had been lost in a fruitless investigation of the records of the various muggle social service agencies. It was only after he had gone back to Little Whinging and delved deeper into the lives of John and Candace Winters did Sirius finally get a lead on the whereabouts of the missing Harry Potter.

"A right handsome couple, they were," the green grocer in the Winters' old neighborhood had told Sirius. "And such a close family. You just don't see that sort of kinship much these days. The entire family was always getting together to celebrate one thing or another. That party they threw when their eldest daughter and her husband adopted their little boy was almost a carnival."

Sirius took a long sip of cognac.

"Harry is on a horse farm in the eastern part of America in the state of Kentucky." Sirius told them and then proceded to give very precise directions toHarry's home.

"How did he look?" Dumbledore said.

"It is unnerving how much he looks like James at that age," Sirius said. "Except his eyes, those are Lily's melancholy green eyes returned. He is perhaps a bit shorter and stockier then was James. His adoptive parents have cared for him well. He looked and smelled healthy. From what little I observed, Harry appeared to be a polite, friendly boy but he speaks with an atrocious American accent."

"Anything else?" McGonagall asked.

"That scar of his has all but disappeared," Sirius replied. "It was only the faintest of lines. I had to look very, very close just to be able to spot it. I thought you said that it would remain prominent, Headmaster."

Professor Dumbledore frowned in concentration. "It should have. A curse scar like that one is impervious to any magical attempts to remove them."

"Logically then, there is a muggle remedy for them," Professor McGonagall said. "Do you have anymore information, Sirius?"

"As you well know, Professor, people often confide in animals," Sirius answered with a grin. "Harry and his father weren't at home when I first arrived there but his mother was. She sat on the steps and petted me a bit all the while talking about the troubles between her husband and the soon to be new owners of the stables where her husband is the trainer and the manager. The upstart of it all is that they are planning to permanently return to Britain soon."

"That is definitely helpful," McGonagall said. "It should aid in persuading the parents in allowing Harry to attend Hogwarts if they are going to be in Britain also."

"You won't believe what they named Harry," Sirius said. "Henry John Porter."

"Henry John Porter." McGonagall said slowly. "Harry James Potter. That's quite a coincidence. It would have beneficial if they had named him something far more removed from his birth name however."

"Perhaps not," Dumbledore said. "The names are so close that the opposition will have had difficult time accepting the possibility that he is Harry Potter. They can not help but to think that if we were going to disguise him we would come up with a name that did not resemble his original name so closely."

Sirius finished off his drink and sat the thick crystal glass on the end table. "What deception are you planning, Headmaster? I thought the whole object of my search was to locate Harry and get him in Hogwarts."

"That has been the objective of the search, Sirius," Dumbledore reassured him. "And even if it takes a compulsion charm on his parents, Harry will be here at Hogwarts when the term begins next month."

Dumbledore eased back into his chair with satisfaction clearly on his face. Forming a steeple with his fingers, he continued. "This is working better than I had hoped. The lightening-bolt scar is prominent in all of the stories about the _Boy who Lived._ When this boy arrives without such a mark, he will not be associated with Harry Potter."

"Let me make myself clear, Professor Dumbledore," Sirius said. "The scar is still there, it is just very faint."

"What death eater can get close enough to notice it then?" Dumbledore said confidently.

"Only one," Sirius muttered.

"I trust Severus," the Headmaster said. "I believe that we can safely bring Henry Porter here and leave Harry Potter in the foggy realm of mystery. Any questions or comments?"

"Several," an angry Sirius Black barked. "He is my godson, the son of my closest friend; I want him in my life. In addition, there is a fortune in Gringotts that belongs to him. He deserves the life that it can afford him."

"Sirius," McGonagall began. "Do you love James Remus?"

Sirius looked at the professor in disbelief. "He and my wife are the very center of my life. I would gladly die for my son."

"So you would not put him in danger?"

"I can see where you're going with this, professor," Sirius said. "Do you honestly think that my taking an interest in Harry would put him in danger?"

"Your close friendship with James Potter was well known. The Marauders had, shall we say, certain notoriety in the British wizarding community especially among those of your generation," McGonagall said. "I would have to say that if you took an active and public interest in Henry Porter, someone who would appear to be nothing more than a boy from a muggle family; it would be tantamount to taking out a full page advert in the _Daily Prophet _announcing the return of Harry Potter."

"I can see that," Sirius grudgingly admitted.

"As to Harry's fortune," Dumbledore said. "Does he need it? Are his parents poor?"

"Poor? No," Sirius replied. "They are hardly wealthy but Mr. Porter apparently makes a good wage. They live simply but that seems to be a lifestyle choice on their part. I saw no signs of poverty when I was at their house."

"His money then can stay at Gringotts until he is an adult," Dumbledore said. "I will verify the matter with the goblins but I believe that under their rules, the bank will hold the monies of someone who has disappeared in trust for fifty years unless proof of death is shown before then so we still have thirty-nine more years before that is an issue and I believe that we have more then enough proof to convince Gringotts of Harry's identity when the time comes. Any other issues, Sirius."

"I'll stay away from Harry, Headmaster," he said reluctantly. "But the fact remains that Harry is his father's mirror image and Snape definitely has cause to remember what James looked like. He'll take one glance at Harry and send word to his fellow death eaters before the sorting ceremony is over with."

"And I keep reminding you that Severus is on our side," Professor Dumbledore rebuked him.

"Yes, you do," Sirius answered mildly but his tone of voice eloquently stated his opinion on the subject. "Nevertheless, I believe that he should not be told of 'Henry Porter's' true identity."

"On that we are in agreement. After all, the fewer people who know a secret, the safer is that secret." Dumbledore said. "Does that satisfy you, Sirius?"

"Satisfy me? I don't know, Headmaster," Sirius answered as he stood. "But I will obey you. Please, just keep Harry safe. I'd like to be able to tell him about his parents over a decanter of good brandy one day."

Dumbledore rose and extended his hand. "I give you my word that I will do all in my power to get Harry to that day. That was very good work you did in finding him, Sirius. I was not sure that it would prove to be possible. I am in your debt."

Sirius shook the Headmaster's hand. "Thank you, sir, but there is no debt owed except maybe to James and Lily. Who is going to give Harry his invitation to Hogwarts? An owl will have a hard time crossing the Atlantic."

"I will," Professor McGonagall said. "I'll take Maggie with me and make a holiday of it. It will expand her horizons and I am interested in seeing how much America has changed since I was there in 1955."

"Mama Minerva," Sirius teased. "Who would have ever thought that the woman who struck terror in the hearts of so many Gryffindors would become a doting mother?"

"As I recall, in your student days, you had some choice phrases to describe a man who devoted himself to only one woman," Professor McGonagall replied. "A man such as you have become."

Sirius laughed. "I openly confess to being totally whipped and by a muggle woman to boot. Let us both count our blessings. Good-bye, Professors. If you need me, I'll be on the Mediterranean for the next two weeks."

With a jaunty salute, Sirius left the office.

Albus went to his sideboard in the wake of Sirius' departure. In remembrance of the younger man's comment, the he poured himself a brandy and mixed a gillywater for Minerva.

"Thank you," Minerva said when Dumbledore handed her the drink. "Do you believe that the death eaters will be fooled by 'Henry Porter' especially if he does look like his father?"

Dumbledore eased himself down on the sofa next to her. "Fooled? Perhaps but I don't know. If we can keep them unsure as to his identity that should help keep Harry safe. I do not think that the death eaters will risk direct confrontation and exposure for anything less then absolute conviction."

"As to Harry's countenance," he continued. "How often have you met someone that reminded you of someone else? It is common enough occurrence and it brings us back to the lack of certainty."

"It's best never to underestimate your enemies," Minerva warned.

"At the risk of hubris, I'll say that I am never in danger of doing that," Dumbledore said sadly. "The pitiful truth is that Voldemort attracted some of the brightest of our people into his service."

"Aye," Minerva agreed.

Dumbledore downed his brandy. "While at the Porters try to discover how much the parents have told Harry about who he is. If they have kept him ignorant about his origins and he has no idea who he is other than Henry Porter then a legilimens would read that as the truth and it would take an occlumens of no small skill and more then a fair amount of time to find the memories of a three month old buried in the mind."

Minerva nodded and sipped her drink. She let her mind concentrate on the upcoming conference that she would have with the Porters. Such interviews that she had conducted in the past with muggle parents that had produced magical children had been surprisingly smooth. The parents inevitably, on a subconscious level, knew something was different about their child, something that they could not quite put a name to until a witch or wizard demonstrated to them that magic does truly exist and that their child had that ability.

"Do you think that you will have any difficulties convincing the Porters to send Harry to Hogwarts?" Albus asked after a moment.

"I was just thinking about that," She said. "No, I don't believe so. In my experience, transforming into a cat and back again at the beginning of the interview has the capacity of converting the most harden skeptics to a belief in magic and it inevitably excites the child about learning the art."

"Show-off," Albus said affectionately squeezing her hand.

"Any other instructions before I leave?" Minerva asked returning his squeeze.

"Yes," Dumbledore said. "I want you and Maggie to truly enjoy yourselves."


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1

The Misplaced Potter

Chapter 6

_In Which Decisions are Made_

Henry Porter lay in bed and stared at the rain that steadily beat at his window. As with anyone connected with agriculture, Henry did not find rainstorms to be gloomy events but saw them as needed and welcome occurrences. The grasses of the pastures would grow several inches after a good rain. Horses loved the rain because it kept the biting insects away from them. The somber gray of the skies did however match Henry's mood on that morning perfectly.

Henry had a decision to make on whether or not to attend a school for wizards in Britain or ignore the potential that the Scottish professor had told Henry was within him. His parents left the matter in his hands.

"I'll give you whatever advice you ask for, son," his father told him. "But I think that this is a choice that you must make on you own."

"Your father and I will support any decision that you make," his mother added.

Despite his youth, Henry had developed a strong streak of practicality. He was not favorably predisposed to airy subjects such as magic. He rarely read fairy tales or fantasy preferring adventure stories or science fiction. That side of his personality was more then willing to tell Professor McGonagall 'thanks but no thanks. Sorry you made such long trip for nothing.'

Yet Henry responded profoundly on a primordial level as he watched the professor transform herself into a cat and back again. Atavistic memories stirred deep within his id and a nameless longing tugged at his being. Moreover, his father's words kept repeating themselves in his head.

"In an odd way, Henry," he had said when Professor McGonagall announced that Henry was a wizard. "This doesn't surprise me. You have a way with horses that has always struck me as almost supernatural. I have seen you calm frightened animals quicker then anyone else I have ever known in my life and you're just a kid after all."

With a grunt, Henry rolled out of his bed. He pulled on a pair of blue jeans, a black tee shirt, socks, and boots. He paused in front of the mirror over his dresser and ran a brush through his untidy hair. It made no discernable difference.

"I should just get a crew cut," he grumbled before quickly making up his bed. Henry then scanned his bedroom. Satisfied with the state of things he headed for the kitchen.

His parents and their guests were already in the kitchen when Henry arrived there. His Mother and Professor McGonagall were at the stove frying eggs, potatoes and bacon. They were chatting about the places that the McGonagalls were planning to see while in America. His father, with an oversized coffee mug sitting on the counter before him, was manning the toaster.

Maggie, the professor's daughter, was sitting at the table with a large glass of orange juice in front of her. She had her thick black hair pulled back into a ponytail and wearing a dress of the deepest blue that matched her eyes. Henry thought that she was pretty even if she was obviously very groggy this morning. He figured that it was probably jet lag catching up with her.

"Good morning," she said in a thick Scottish burr that Henry had to strain to understand. "It looks as if we will not be able to ride the horses again today not that I could have anyway."

"Why not?" Henry asked as he poured himself a glass of juice.

"You didn't warn me that I would be this sore the morning after my first ride," she said. Abruptly all three adults burst into laughter.

Maggie looked at her mother in confusion.

"Never mind us, dearest," Professor McGonagall said with a wave of her hand..

At her request, Henry had taken Maggie horseback riding the previous evening after her mother had finished with her pitch. Maggie, who had never been on a horse before, clearly enjoyed herself. Henry was delighted that his guest was keen on horses but was somewhat startled by what she had said after they returned to the barn.

"That was super," she said gaily. "It's nothing like riding a broom."

"Good morning, Henry," his mother said.

"Yes, good morning, young Mr. Porter," Professor McGonagall said as she passed the pan of bacon to Mrs. Porter who transferred the strips to a plate. "Are you going to keep us in suspense?"

"No, ma'am, I'm not," Henry replied. "If I am what you say I am then I'll go to your school. I reckon if you're a jack ass it's no use pretending to be a thoroughbred."

"That's super, Henry," Maggie exclaimed giggling at his turn of phrase. "You'll love Hogwarts."

"A colorful acceptance speech, I'll grant you, if a less then enthusiastic one," Professor McGonagall said sardonically. "I can assure you that you are a wizard indeed, young Mr. Porter, and I believe that you will find the training at Hogwarts both challenging and stimulating."

"What do we need to do now?" Danielle Porter asked as she slid the eggs on to a plate.

Professor McGonagall paused for a moment to consider the matter. "Maggie and I will be returning to London on the 29th. We can, if you like, return here on say the 27th and the five of us can fly there together and take care of all the school needs and other loose ends at that time."

"That would work," Danielle said but her husband shook his head.

"It'll have to be the four of you," he said. "I won't be able to leave at that time."

"The four of us then," Professor McGonagall said.

Henry sighed inwardly.

"What have I gotten myself into?" he silently asked the universe.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1

The Misplaced Potter

Chapter 7

_In which a happy discovery is made_

"Don't let your head fall off, Henry," Danielle Porter teased her son.

Henry smiled at his mom. "I'm gonna have a sore neck from trying to see everything at once."

Henry and his mother were in Diagon Alley in the company of Professor McGonagall and Maggie. Every store window that Henry looked through held wonders. The pet shop had rats that were using their tails to skip rope. The shop that Henry thought of as a hardware store had pots, cauldrons as Maggie called them, which had paddles that stirred themselves. The apothecary had signs that advertised exotic ingredients such as dragon blood and powdered bicorn horn. To Henry, the wildest thing was that in the midst of all of the magical marvels there was an ice cream parlor.

They were heading for Gringotts, the wizard bank. Professor McGonagall needed to make a withdrawal and Mrs. Porter needed to exchange U. S. dollars for what the professor said were galleons, the coinage of the magical world.

"You may find the appearance of goblins startling at first," Professor McGonagall said as they approached the bank. "Just remember that they are sentient beings ever bit as clever as humans and they are very proud. Be direct, be polite, and be wary."

Two goblins acted as greeters as they mounted the steps to the entryway of the bank. They wore old-fashioned livery but what Henry noticed most about them was the rows of very sharp teeth that filled their mouths. They were evidently carnivores and Henry could not help but to wonder if the occasional human did not find his way into a goblin oven.

The interior of the bank proved to be cavernous but ornately elegant. From a high vaulted ceiling, hung massive chandeliers sporting hundreds of white candles that provided both plenty of lighting and filled the air with a delicate perfume. Their footfalls echoed off the well-worn but highly polished oak floor. On either side, goblin clerks dressed in formal high-collared suits worked behind green marble counters trimmed with ornate brass grillwork. Wooden placards with brass letter inlays clearly stated what sort of business occurred at each station. The low mummer of commerce rumbled from wall to wall.

"Currency exchange is down on this side," Professor McGonagall told Mrs. Porter. "Oh, there is my colleague, Professor Sprout. She must be escorting a muggle family through here also."

"Hello, Pomona," she called out.

Professor Sprout and her party turned toward them.

"Caroline?"

"Danielle?"

"So, Chris?"

"And Henry?"

"Apparently."

The two sisters fell laughing into a hug, as the two professors looked on in amazement.

Christopher, Caroline's son and Henry's favorite cousin, walked over to Henry and Maggie. He greeted his cousin with a high five hand slap.

"This is beyond cool, cuz," he said. "I thought that me going to Hogwarts would have to be a big secret from everybody. With you there, I know that it will be great."

"It will be great having you there, too," Henry agreed happily. "Chris, this is Maggie McGonagall. Maggie, this is Chris Gallatin, my cousin and about the coolest guy you could ever hope to meet."

"Hi, Maggie," Chris said flashing his dazzling smile. "Are you a student at Hogwarts, also?"

"I'll be starting my first year tomorrow," she said. "But I grew up there. My mum is one of the teachers."

"You must know a lot of magic already then," Chris said impishly. "I know who to copy from now."

"Some," Maggie admitted. "But there are a lot of rules against young kids using magic so I don't know as much as you might think I would. Copying my test won't get you very far."

Chris laughed. Like his father and grandfather, Chris was tall and slender. He moved with leonine grace and was already developing into a handsome young man. He had thick dark brown hair and even darker eyes that always twinkled with good humor. What made him so cool in Henry's opinion was he took all of those attributes with a grain of salt.

Chris bent his knees and looked at Henry's head. "Do you have any hair left under that cap?"

Henry lifted the blue cap off his head and ran a hand over the black stubble. "I just got so sick of my hair sticking out every which a way no matter how much I combed it so I got a crew cut."

"It looks good on you, cuz," Chris said.

"Minerva," Professor Sprout began in a harried voice. "Can you escort the Gallatins through Diagon Alley and get them to the station tomorrow. I really need to get back to the greenhouses. I am no where near ready for classes to began."

Professor McGonagall glanced at the excitedly chatting sisters. "Yes, Pomona, I can do that for you."

"You're a life saver," the herbology professor said gratefully. "I'll see you tomorrow then."

Professor McGonagall stepped over to the other mothers.

"Shall we exchange currency, ladies?"

Chris and Henry were pressed into what Henry jokingly called pack mule duty within a few minutes of leaving the bank. Professor McGonagall purchased a large old trunk from a junk store and then she methodically led the party from store to store beginning with the second hand robe shop.

"It's ridiculous to pay to have tailored robes made for children that will grow out of them before spring," she declared.

Buying a wand proved both an interesting and tedious process. Maggie McGonagall's selection of a wand took only one try. Her wand was nine inches long with a hippogriff feather at its core. Henry had to ask what a hippogriff was. Chris found his wand on the fourth try. It was a beautiful thirteen-inch red cedar wand with a salamander heartstring for a core.

Finding Henry's match proved to be a more difficult task as wand after wand failed to produce the desired result. Henry thought that he would have to try every wand in the store. It did not help that the watery-eyed Mr. Ollivander kept staring at him in an intensely speculative manner.

"Is something wrong?" Henry finally asked.

"No, Mr. Potter," the wand maker replied. "Nothing is wrong. You are just a tricky customer to match. To be honest, I'm enjoying the challenge."

"My name is Porter, sir"

"Ah, so it is. I'm sorry, Mr. Porter," Mr. Ollivander said glancing over at Professor McGonagall. "I believe that I may know which wand will suit you."

He disappeared into the back. When he returned, he carried a flat cardboard box much like a tie would come in. It had on it a thick coat of dust. Mr. Ollivander opened the box and extended it toward Henry in an almost ceremonious fashion.

The effect when Henry grasped the wand was spectacular. He felt as if a hot desert wind suddenly buffeted his body. Crimson and gold sparks flew out of the wand and danced about the room some eight feet above the floor.

"I do believe that we have a match, Mr. Porter," Mr. Ollivander understated. "It is eleven inches long constructed of holly and phoenix feather. A highly unusual combination."

He turned to stare at Professor McGonagall. "A highly unusual combination," he repeated.

"Yet the unusual occurs everyday," Professor McGonagall replied dryly.

Mr. Ollivander nodded slowly. "Yes, so it does. That is why it is called magic. Please extend my greetings to Professor Dumbledore."

The next several stops were prosaic but still very interesting to the nascent scholars. At the stationary shop, Chris and Henry were surprised to discover that they would not be buying notebook paper, pens, or pencils. Instead, they would be using feather quills, pots of ink, and scrolls of heavy paper at Hogwarts.

"Is this paper made out of rags like in the old days," Chris, a history buff, asked Professor McGonagall as he felt the paper.

The professor seemed pleased that Chris knew that bit of trivia. She was smiling when she answered him. "Yes, it is, Mr. Gallatin, but the stationary in here is parchment."

"The scrolls and the stationary that you find in here are exclusively of wizarding manufacture, by the way," the young clerk who was helping them said. "Muggles, of course, have abandoned this style of paper for wood pulp as you probably know."

"But quills and ink?" Mrs. Porter asked. "You magic folk have seen ball point pens, surely."

The clerk and Professor McGonagall laughed politely.

"Yes, Mrs. Porter, we have." Professor McGonagall answered as she rummaged through her robes. She extracted a small notebook with a pen clipped to its side. "I write memos to myself if I think of something that I need to do or shopping lists or the like."

"But then why the quills for students?" Mrs. Gallatin asked.

"It's a tried and true teaching method," the professor explained. "By having to use quills and continuously dip into inkpots, the students are forced to slow down and truly think about what they are writing. It has the remarkable facility of impressing onto their minds the information that they are writing."

The two sisters nodded in understanding.

"I can see where it would," Mrs. Gallatin replied.

After the stationary shop, they walked over to the magical instruments store. Henry took one look inside the window and sat his end of the trunk down on the walk. "If we tried to take this in there, we'd knock over half the stuff and it all looks expensive from here."

"You're right," Chris said lowering his end.

Henry stayed beside the trunk as the rest of the party went inside to purchase the scales, telescopes, and other instruments that were on their list. Henry sat down on the trunk and watched the intriguing denizens of Diagon Alley walk by on the lane. For a people who tried to remain inconspicuous, most were colorfully dressed in flashy robes dyed in some of the most outrageous hues imaginable. Headwear of every type abounded. Henry saw folk in top hats, turbans, tall pointy felt hats, and tricorns. He even saw a lime green colored derby on the head of short plump man as he scurried by with several assistants hard on his heels.

Chris came out with several boxes in his arms. Henry opened the trunk and the two of them carefully stowed the packages inside.

"You have to go in there, Henry," his cousin excitedly said as they closed the trunk. "It's incredible."

"There's a lot to see out here, too," he replied but, at Chris' urging, Henry went into the store as Chris took up the post by the trunk.

His mother waved to Henry as he entered the shop. Keeping his elbows firmly tucked to his side, he joined her by a display of telescopes.

"The list says a telescope but gives no specifics," Mrs. Porter said. "So you are free to choose whichever one catches your fancy."

"Oh, _any one_," Henry said roguishly.

Danielle Porter pushed the bill of his cap down with a laugh. "Within limits, young man, within limits. Although I must say, I suspect that Professor McGonagall has saved Caroline and me quite a bit of money today. She knows what is needed after all her years of teaching and she is outfitting her own daughter after all."

"Which one did Maggie buy?" Henry asked. "Like you said, Professor McGonagall would know more about them then I would."

Henry and his Mom bought the most basic telescope the shop offered.

"Most of what you need to locate in the night sky, you will be able to do so with the naked eye, anyway," Professor McGonagall said. "And the astronomy tower is equipped with a large permanent telescope for the more serious student of the subject."

"Is astronomy a popular subject among the students," Mrs. Porter asked.

"Yes," Professor McGonagall answered. "But nowhere near as is the astronomy tower itself."

Mrs. Porter smiled. "I'm guessing that magical or muggle; teens are pretty much the same."

"Too right they are," the professor agreed.

Henry felt his head grow light as they entered the apothecary. A thousand and one strange scents assailed his nose. Even the years spent in stables did not prepare him for the tide of aromas that broke over him. The several dried hanging carcasses of lizards, bats, and rodents did not help the queasiness that Henry felt in his stomach. Mrs. Porter took one look at Henry and pointed to the door.

"Best get some fresh air before you embarrass yourself."

A green-gilled Henry gratefully fled the premises.

Their final stop was Flourish and Blott's bookstore. It proved to be far more to Henry's liking. The shop carried the textbooks that they would need for the following school year but also thousands of books with subjects ranging from curses to potions to self-help to history. Chris selected _Hogwarts, a History_ and _Modern Magical History._

"We need to know about magical history if we're going to understand anything that the other kids talk about," Chris said.

"If I have any questions," Henry said as he examined a large tome titled _The Encyclopedia of Magical Beasts. _"I'll ask Maggie."

"You'll ask me what," Maggie asked as she joined them.

"If you'll be his girlfriend," Chris said with a straight face.

Their mothers walked over to them before a red-faced Henry could escape by digging through the tiles.

"Are you three about ready?" Mrs. Gallatin asked.

"Yes, Mum," Chris said.

"May I have this, Mom?" Henry asked showing her the book.

"You and animals," she said fondly as she looked at the price and did the currency conversion in her head. "Yes, you can buy it."

"Thanks."

Within moments, the six of them were on the cobblestones of Diagon Alley. Professor McGonagall reviewed their list to ensure that they had not missed purchasing any of the necessary items.

"Mrs. Gallatin," she began after she finished her review. "You are aware of where you need to be tomorrow and at what time? You do have the ticket?"

"King's Cross station before eleven o'clock. Platform 9 ¾," Mrs. Gallatin rattled off. "Professor Sprout explained how to pass through the barrier but you speak as if we are parting company."

"We shall take rooms at the Leaky Cauldron and meet you at the station tomorrow."

"Danielle, I won't hear of it," Mrs. Gallatin exclaimed. "I have the estate car out front. The four of you are coming home with me."

"That's kind of you, Mrs. Gallatin, but," Professor McGonagall started but was quickly interrupted by Mrs. Gallatin.

"No buts at all, Professor. I live only thirty minutes from here and we have plenty of room," Mrs. Gallatin said with determination. "And I would count it a great favor if you would call me Caroline."

"You might as well give in, Professor," Danielle Porter said. "There is no one more stubborn then my sister."

"Very well. Thank you," Professor McGonagall graciously relented. "Please, lead the way to your car, Caroline."

"Good," Caroline said as she linked arms with her sister. "We'll get some pizzas and make a party of it."

The trunk felt lighter to a grinning Chris and Henry after she said that.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1

The Misplaced Potter

Chapter 8

_In which our hero travels on the Hogwarts Express_

It was just after ten o'clock the next morning when they arrived at King's Cross Station. Aunt Caroline found an amazingly close parking space and no one had forgotten anything.

"I get nervous when things go this smoothly," Aunt Caroline joked as Chris and Henry quickly returned to the car with a flat cart in tow.

Henry took charge of the luggage trolley, which was loaded with the trunk that Professor McGonagall had bought the previous day as well as two suitcases of clothes for him and Chris. A garment bag with a selection of sweaters, jackets, coats, and their school robes was draped over a large red cooler which was packed with what Henry thought was enough food and drinks to do them for days.

Henry, along with his mother, his Aunt Caroline, his cousin Christopher, and the McGonagalls, moved through the heavy throng at King's Cross Station. Now that he had an idea as to what to look for, Henry could spot the magical folk in the mass of muggles. Owls were the biggest giveaway. Henry noticed no less than seven owls in cages. The magical folk also favored old-fashion steamer trunks to modern suitcases. Henry saw several school-aged kids pulling trolleys burdened with such trunks.

Henry spied the large brick column that was the gateway to platform 9 ¾. There was a small knot of people gathered nearby. Professor McGonagall had told them that no one without magical ability could pass through to the platform so Henry guessed that these were muggle parents saying good-bye to their kids much as he would have to do shortly. At that thought, Henry was afraid that he was going to cry. He had never been away from his parents for any length of time before and now that the reality of separation was upon him, he was scared.

His mother caught his change of mood. She placed a gentle arm around his shoulder.

"It'll be alright, Henry," she reassured him.

"I know," he said thickly. "It's just…"

"I understand," Danielle Porter said as she walked beside her son. "We'll all be together at Christmas at your Aunt Caroline's and it may well be that your father and I will be back in England for good before your school year is finished."

"It seems like a long way off," Henry replied.

Danielle Porter quietly laughed. "If Hogwarts is half as interesting as Professor McGonagall has made it sound, you'll soon be telling yourself that you can't believe is Christmas break already."

"I hope so."

"I don't have to tell you to be good or to study hard or to write. I know that you will do those things," Mrs. Porter said. "But I want you to remember that your father and I love you very much and are very proud of you."

"I'd forget to breathe before I forget that," Henry said dropping his control and letting the tears flow from his eyes. "I love you and dad. You've told me that I was adopted but I can't see myself as anyone else's son."

Mrs. Porter began crying when Henry said that. They clung to each other for nearly a minute before Mrs. Porter finally broke the embrace.

"You had best be getting through the barrier," she said as she pulled a handkerchief from her purse and wiped Henry's face. "We'll see you at Christmas."

Henry nodded once, not trusting his voice. He aligned his trolley with the barrier and waited for a girl with bushy hair to go through first. As soon as she was through, Henry pushed his cart forward at a trot.

He was not sure what to expect. Would the barrier be like passing through water or syrup? In the end, it was like nothing at all.

"It must be some kind of an illusion," Henry thought looking back over his shoulder. He quickly had to move out of the path as another cart was coming through. Once out of the way of the barrier, Henry moved forward slowly looking for Maggie, whose mother had given her permission to ride the train to Hogwarts, and Chris.

Having decided that they had not yet come through, Henry headed for one of the train. He was following the bushy haired girl as she walked along side the cars peeking into the compartments. She noticed Henry when she stopped.

"This one is empty if you want to join me," she said

Henry nodded his acceptance and quickly moved forward to help her load her luggage onto the train before starting on his cart.

Henry was unloading the cooler, the last of his baggage, when two tall thickset boys approached him.

"Hey Crabbe," one boy said. "Isn't this the muggleborn who was outside crying like a baby?"

"Yeah, Goyle, it is," the other one agreed mockingly. "What's the matter? Is baby gonna miss his mummy."

Henry slid the cooler into the compartment. He turned to the two boys and smiled. Blood splattered Goyle's face and shirt as Henry's lightning fast left jab broke his nose. A right uppercut forced all of the air from Crabbe's lungs. Henry followed that punch with a left hook to the jaw that dropped Crabbe to the ground.

Henry turned at Goyle's roar. The large boy threw a wild roundhouse punch that Henry easily ducked. He put three quick jabs into Goyle's ribs then Henry drove a right cross that came from downtown into the side of Goyle's head. The boy was out cold before his shoulders hit the platform.

Crabbe was still curled up gasping for breathe when Henry dropped to a squat beside him.

"To answer your question," Henry said mildly. "Yes, I'm gonna miss my mom very much."

Chris and Maggie were standing in the small crowd that had gathered to watch the fight.

"That was a subtle way to introduce yourself to your new classmates, cuz," Chris said amidst the cheers and applause.

"Both of those boys were much bigger than you," Maggie said.

"Henry may be small but he's as strong as the horses he raises," Chris told her. "I've been foolish enough to wrestle with him in the past. Trust me; lifting all those hay bales hasn't gone to waste."

"C'mon," a blushing Henry said with a jerk of his head. "Our luggage is in this car."

An hour later, Henry was watching the suburbs speed by his window.

"Henry, it has to be broken," a concerned Maggie said. She had used her handkerchief to make an icepack but it was having little effect on his hand.

Henry gazed upon his hand. It was rapidly swelling and turning an ugly purple. He should not have let those two idiots get his dander up but they had caught him when he was already in the grip of high emotion.

"I guess there's a school nurse or something at Hogwarts," Henry said trying to keep them from knowing how much his hand hurt.

"Sure, Madame Pomfrey," Maggie said. "But we're hours and hours from Hogwarts. Stay here."

She hopped off the bench and disappeared into the corridor.

"Where does she think I can go?" Henry asked rhetorically.

Chris laughed, more to keep the mood light then anything else. "You know that none of the cool heroes are supposed to break their hands in a fight."

"Well, I'm no hero then," Henry said as he tried to find the least uncomfortable way to hold his hand.

"Beating up two thugs and then squatting down and delivering that line," Chris replied. "Cuz, that was pure cinematic cool."

Henry's retort died aborning as a fresh spasm of pain shot through his hand. Hermione Granger, as the bushy haired girl had introduced herself, caught the sudden grimace of pain on his face.

"You shouldn't have gotten into a fight in the first place," she said in a rather bossy tone. "What will they think of you at Hogwarts? Getting into a brawl before the train even left the station."

"Well, aren't you little Mary Sunshine," Chris said angrily. "Can't you see that he is in pain?"

"Yes, I can," she replied. "But whose fault is that?"

"It's mine," Henry quickly said before Chris could get a row started. "I shouldn't have let those dolts get my goat in the first place, and in the second place, I should not have forgotten that skulls are harder than fingers but it's nothing you two need to fight about."

Chris looked from Hermione to Henry and back again.

"Yeah, you're right," he said. "I'm sorry for snapping at you, Hermione."

Hermione's shoulders sagged slightly. "There is no need for you to apologize," she said sadly. "It's my fault. I lack many basic social skills. I have a severe tendency to say things and do things without considering their effect on others. It made me hated at my old school."

"No one knows you at Hogwarts so you can start anew with everyone," Chris said encouragingly.

Hermione turned to stare out of the window with sad eyes. "It's a new school but I'm the same old Hermione."

Henry and Chris were floundering for a reply when Maggie entered the compartment closely followed by an older teen-aged girl with short blonde hair carrying a large leather bag. She was wearing a pair of black jeans and a green sweatshirt with SLYTHERIN written across the front in silver.

"There he is, Barbara," Maggie said as she sat down beside Hermione.

Chris stood and stepped around Barbara. He stopped in the open doorway and looked over her shoulder as she knelt before Henry. Barbara carefully took his hand and slowly turned it side to side. She then carefully moved her fingers over Henry's swollen hand.

"Mercy of God," Henry shouted when she probed over a finger.

"I am going to interpret that as 'Barbara, that felt the tiniest bit painful when you did that,'" Barbara said.

"Barbara that was the tiniest bit painful," Henry said between gritted teeth.

"You do have some broken fingers, Henry," The teen girl told him. "And a dislocated knuckle. No great surprise there. At this point, you have three options. One, you can put the ice pack back on and tell me to get the hell away from your hand. Two, I know a spell that will deaden the pain and we can put some cream that I have on your hand to keep the swelling down until we get to Hogwarts and you into the care of Madame Pomfrey, who is a healer of no mean skill or, three, you can trust me to mend your broken bones. I am not a healer yet but I will start my official training at St. Mungo's next year and, as Maggie will tell you, I have been Madame Pomfrey's shadow for six years. She has already taught me quite a bit and the spell to knit broken bones is a fairly basic one."

"Right now, I'd trust a witchdoctor," said Henry then he blushed as the incongruence of the words in his present setting hit him. "Sorry, a witchdoctor is…"

Barbara raised her hand stopping his apology. "My grandmother is a muggle," she said. "I know what is meant by witchdoctor. So, I am taking that to mean that you're all mine. Extend your hand, please."

Henry carefully held his hand before him.

Barbara put her left hand under his wrist to steady it. She clutched her wand in her right hand and began what was to Henry's eyes a random pattern in the air.

"Ossiac," she cried.

Henry's hand exploded with white-hot heat. Bloody sweat seeped out of the pores as he felt the bones rapidly knit and his knuckle pop back into place. The throbbing muscles of his hand began to relax. Barbara carefully wiped the hand dry. She poked around her bag for a moment finally extracting a small white jar with a red lid. She smeared the pinkish cream that was inside of it on Henry's hand. The hand that was so hot moments before became icy cold. Slowly, it returned to a normal body temperature. After a few minutes, Barbara took his hand in hers. There was no pain when she manipulated his fingers. There was no pain at all anywhere in his hand.

"That's incredible," Henry said in an awed voice. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, Henry," Barbara said merrily as she stood. "Thank you for the practice. I can use all of it that I can get so lead a risky life. Wrestle trolls. Tease Hippogriffs. Get girls mad at you."

She departed with a smile and a wave.

Chris sat back down beside Henry as his cousin was rapidly moving all of his fingers.

"You mean, that's it? It's healed and everything?" he asked disbelievingly. "Man, when I broke my leg, I had to wear a cast for six weeks."

"It feels fine," Henry said. "Thanks for fetching her, Maggie"

"You're welcome, Henry," she replied.

Hermione stared at Henry's hand. The swelling was gone and ugly purple coloring had disappeared. Even the scraps and scratches on the knuckles were no longer there.

"My parents are dentists," she said her despondency dispelled by her wonder. "They would give nearly anything to be able to heal someone that quickly after surgery."

"Well, now that minor considerations such as broken bones are out of the way, let's get to important matters," Chris said buoyantly. "Other then having the foresight to put ice for your hand in there, what else did mum pack for us in that cooler, Henry? You are, of course, invited to join our feast, Hermione."

"Thank you," she replied glad that the tension that had flared up between them was gone.

Henry spun the cooler that was in the floor before him around to where to could open the lid.

"Let's see," he began. "One pizza, it looks like eight or nine sandwiches on baguettes, some milk, six pops."

"What's a pop?" Hermione and Maggie asked in unison.

"You'll have to forgive my cousin," Chris said in mock seriousness. "The Yanks have corrupted his vocabulary to where he is no longer capable of speaking the Queen's English. By pop he means soft drinks, more then likely, Pepsis."

"Sod off," Henry said without heat. "Is that English enough for you?"

"How does pizza sound to everyone?" Chris asked as he passed around cloth napkins. "Maggie? Hermione?"

"That'll be super," Maggie said.

"Can do spells on this train?" Hermione asked Maggie. "Or is it just for emergencies like what Barbara did?"

"You can do any spell that doesn't cause any trouble," she replied. "There are no muggles onboard."

"Place the pizza on top of the cooler, please, Henry," Hermione said. "I want to try something."

Henry passed around the bottles of Pepsi and then carefully placed the pizza on the lid of the cooler. Hermione raised her wand and stared at the pizza in concentration as the others watched her.

"Therme!" she suddenly barked.

Steam rose from the now hot pizza as its tantalizing aroma quickly filled the compartment.

"I didn't get it too hot, did I?" She asked.

Chris slid a slice on to a napkin and tentatively took a small bite.

"Perfect," he all but moaned.

The other three kids quickly grabbed slices of their own.

"Where and when did you learn that?" Maggie asked. "I thought that you were muggleborn?"

"I am," Hermione said between bites. "One of the books I bought at Flourish and Blott's was _1001 Household Charms_. That spell was in there."

"You did it very well," Maggie acknowledged. "Professor Flitwick, the charms teacher, will love you."

"I had never attempted that one before," Hermione said with a patina of pride on her voice. "I had been practicing other spells at home until the Ministry for Magic sent me an owl saying that I was doing something illegal."

"I think that you found who you should copy from, Chris," Maggie said.

"With two of you, I guess I have a fifty-fifty chance of being sorted into a house with at least one of you in it," Chris said.

"What's that about being sorted into houses?" Henry asked.

The other three looked at him in amazement.

"Okay," Henry said. "What don't I know that everyone else does?"

"You mean other then you have a piece of pepperoni on your cheek?" Chris asked. "I warned you that not getting a copy of _Hogwarts, a History _would leave you ignorant of some basic facts."

Hermione nodded her agreement. "As muggleborns, it behooves us to learn about the community in which we are entering."

"The way it works, Henry, is that new students at Hogwarts are sorted into one of four houses in which they'll remain for the rest of their time at Hogwarts," Maggie explained. "The houses are Gryffindor, which my mum is the head of, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, or Slytherin. The houses have their origins with the four founders of the school nearly a thousand years ago."

"So they're like co-ed fraternities," Henry said. "Do the different houses learn different things?"

Maggie shook her head. "No, everybody takes the same classes with the same teachers at least until the third year when you get to choose some of your subjects on your own."

"So why the four houses, then?" Henry asked "Why not just a student body?"

Maggie shrugged. "Tradition, I guess."

"From what I read in _Hogwarts, a History _it is based mostly on personality." Hermione said.

"That's right," Maggie said. "Gryffindors are the bravest, Hufflepuffs the hardest workers, Ravenclaws the smartest, and Slytherins the shrewdest."

"That seems to overlook some important traits like love or honor," Henry said frowning.

"Go back a thousand years and tell the founders that they don't have their priorities straight," Maggie joked.


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1

The Misplaced Potter

Chapter 9

_In which our hero is sorted_

Chris, Henry, Hermione, and Maggie were giving their robes some last minute adjustments when the Hogwarts Express gave one final lurch and then stopped at the Hogsmead/Hogwarts station. They could hear the hiss of the released boiler steam and the groan of the carriages coming to rest. The corridor instantly filled with excitedly jabbering students.

Henry thought that the robes were silly but he chalked it up to another Hogwarts tradition. Second hand or not, Chris wore his plain black robe with style. It made him look like a judge whereas Henry was sure he looked like a boy with his head sticking out of the top of a sack.

Hermione took it upon herself to inspect each of them.

"You need to take off your blue cap and put on your black hat, Henry," she told him as she straightened his tie. "Is the horseshoe supposed to be for good luck, by the way?"

"Naw, it's just the logo of an American football team," Henry said tossing his _Colts _cap into the garment bag and zipping it back up. He eyed the pointed hat resting on the bench with distain.

"You won't look foolish when everyone else is wearing one," Hermione reassured him when she caught his expression.

"I'm gonna hold you to that," Henry grumbled as he jammed the hat on his head.

"Leave all your luggage on the train," a voice cried out over the din.

"Well, that's one less bother anyway," Chris said. "As long as the train doesn't leave here with my bags still on it."

Maggie laughed. "The house elves never leave anything behind including some things that kids try to ditch before entering school grounds."

"House elves?" Hermione asked.

"They're the castle servants," Maggie answered. "They do all of the cooking and cleaning and the like at Hogwarts. They often babysat me when I was little. I liked that because they were the only people at Hogwarts that were my size at the time."

"They're not very tall, then?" Hermione asked.

"No," Maggie replied. "The tallest of them will come only up to my chest and as you can see I'm the shortest one here by nearly a head."

"It seems wrong to ask such small creatures to do so much work," Hermione said with concern.

"Don't worry about that. They're like Henry here," Maggie answered. "They're short but very, very strong. Plus their magic is very potent."

"Then why are they servants?" asked Hermione.

"Because they choose to be, of course," Maggie replied as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Ah, girls, as fascinating as this conversation is," Chris said. "I feel obliged to point out that the corridor is now empty."

"We better hurry or we'll miss the boats," Maggie said as she opened the compartment door.

With Maggie in the lead, they scampered down the corridor and out into the night. Henry was glad of the robe when he felt the unexpected chill of the night on his face. Maggie quickly scanned the deserted station. She heard Hagrid's voice in the distance.

"Hurry, the others are already walking down the pathway," she cried. "Hagrid is leading them to the boats."

The other three discovered that, short legs of not, Maggie ran like a greyhound. With hands on hats, they followed her as best as they could.

"Be careful," Maggie called back as darkness swallowed her. "The path is rather slippery."

"Pitch black and slippery," Hermione said between gasps. "What more do you need?"

The trail was dark and narrow. Gnarled tree branches formed an awning that repulsed all efforts of the moon to shine light upon the ground. Fortune smiled upon them however and they soon found themselves down the path and on the shoreline without mishap. Chris and Hermione were breathing so hard that they failed to notice Hogwarts Castle rising up in its shimmering glory on the far side of the lake. Henry, who was used to running a lot, stood there in awe of its beauty.

"They're all here, Hagrid," Maggie said.

"Help them into a boat and we'll be off then," Hagrid chuckled.

With some clumsiness, the four latecomers managed to climb safely into a small boat. It was one of a small fleet of similar boats.

"Forward." Hagrid shouted as soon as their bottoms hit the seats.

At his command, every boat silently left the shore and began its journey across the still lake to the castle. Chris and Hermione, who were city dwellers, found the vast mountain lake with its starry canopy slightly intimidating despite its natural beauty. A tired Henry eased back as much as he could. The night sky was an old friend of his. He smiled knowing that the same stars that shone down on him would soon shine for his parents. He did not feel so far from home at that moment.

Maggie was coming home after nearly a month gone. She had enjoyed visiting America and seeing its natural wonders but she was glad to be back in her beloved Highlands. She looked at the other boats trying to spot Bess and Bridget. They were going to join the other first year students at the station and the three of them were going to ride across the lake together. She felt a pang of guilt that she has fouled up the idea.

"This isn't all of the Hogwarts students, is it?" Henry asked snatching Maggie from her search.

"No," Maggie answered. "Only the first years arrive this way. Everyone else travels to the castle by carriage."

"Another tradition?" Henry asked.

"That's right," Maggie replied.

They felt the boat change direction slightly. The small fleet was reforming itself into a long line as the headed for a cliff.

"Watch ye heads," Hagrid called out as he vanished through a curtain of ivy.

They passed through the vines that were hiding an opening in the cliff face. They traveled down a dark tunnel that reminded every muggleborn of a carnival ride. As far as they traveled, Henry knew that they had to be under the castle itself.

"I can see some light up ahead," Hermione said.

Within moments, the boats were out of the tunnel and spreading out in the waters of a grotto ringed by a rocky beach. Each boat firmly beached itself on the smooth stones of the shore but did so without any shock. Hagrid, who Henry saw clearly for the first time, was a huge man. He stood at least twelve feet tall and Henry could not even begin to guess how much he weighed. Despite his bulk, he moved easily. Holding a lantern above his head, he led the party of children up a flight of stone stairs.

"Follow me," he said in a booming but friendly voice that reverberated off the grotto walls.

At the top of the stairs, Henry and the others found themselves on a part of the lawns at the base of the castle itself. There was another short flight of steps leading to a massive oak door set in the castle wall.

"Is everyone here?" Hagrid asked.

Almost every kid had to suppress the desire to cry "No."

Hagrid mounted the stairs and knocked three times with his huge fist.

The doors swung open and Professor McGonagall glided out. She was wearing robes of deep green and a tall pointed black hat. Henry immediately saw that the friendly old woman who had visited his home in Kentucky and who had been so helpful in Diagon Alley was not here. In her place, there was a teacher who told you, without saying a word, that she would brook no nonsense.

'The firs' years, professor," Hagrid said with a slight bow.

"Thank you, Hagrid," she replied formally. "I will take them into my charge, now."

Notwithstanding his excitement of arriving at Hogwarts, Henry felt his mind begin to drift. The jet lag, the time change, and the long train trip were taking their toll. He could feel the last of his vim drain from his body. He listened with only half a mind as Professor McGonagall led them to an antechamber and lectured them about the houses and the point system.

Through a fog, he became aware of someone saying something to him.

"What?" he asked groggily.

"I said come on. We are going into the great hall for the sorting ceremony," Chris replied.

"I thought that Professor McGonagall was still speaking," a confused Henry said, as he fell into step with Chris at the end of the long line of marching first years.

"Cuz, that was ten minutes ago," Chris chuckled. "You fell asleep leaning up against the wall."

"Did I miss anything important?" Henry asked anxiously.

"No, not really," his cousin said. "The arrival of some ghosts was pretty cool but you'll be seeing those every day according to Maggie."

Henry thought that his cousin was pulling his leg until he caught sight of three silvery specters floating along the far wall. The students ahead of them were spreading out before a slightly raised dais. An old disreputable pointed hat was resting on a stool in the forefront of the dais. Professor McGonagall stood behind it.

"The Sorting Hat," Chris said unnecessarily.

The hat suddenly straightened and it began to sing. It had a surprisingly good if comical voice. A large rip near where the crown joined the brim acted as a mouth.

The song was a lively tune. The hat bragged about itself for a few verses then it sang about in which of the four houses it would place you. In the midst of the tune, Hermione silently joined them. She, Henry, and Chris along with the rest of the students and faculty rewarded the hat at the end of his song with loud cheers and applause.

Henry searched the pack of first years for Maggie. He finally saw her at the edge of the crowd talking to two girls. The conversation was quiet but very animated with a lot of hand gestures and arm waving. Henry could not hear most of what they were saying and what few words his ears did pick up, he did not understand.

"They must be speaking Scottish," Henry thought. "If there is such a thing."

"It's called Gaelic, Henry," Hermione said. "It is the traditional language of Scotland although not many Scots speak it anymore."

"Uh, thank you," Henry said slightly flustered because he had not realized that he had spoken his thought aloud.

Professor McGonagall stepped forward as the hat was bowing to everyone. In one hand, she held a scroll.

"When I call you name," she said. "You will come up here and sit on the stool. You shall then place the hat on your head and be sorted. Abbott, Hannah."

"And we're off," Chris whispered.

"Hufflepuff," the hat announced a moment after the hat slid over the girl's head.

The table to Henry's right burst into applause as Hannah leaped off the dais and ran toward them.

"Bones, Susan" Professor McGonagall called.

"You'll be near the end, cuz," Chris whispered as Susan Bones stepped onto the dais.

"Oddly enough, we use the same alphabet in Kentucky so I kinda reckoned that," Henry whispered back causing his cousin to laugh.

Henry looked around. He saw Barbara, now dressed in her black robe, standing to one side of the hall talking to an older woman. When Barbara noticed Henry had seen her she beckoned to him. As discretely as possible, Henry detached himself from the group and made his way over to where she was waiting.

"This is the boy, Madame Pomfrey," Barbara said. "I should have waited but he was in a lot of pain. Show her your hand, Henry."

Madame Pomfrey took Henry's hand into her own. Henry could feel the calluses on the healer's hands but her touch was as gentle as a breeze. She carefully examined Henry asking him to move his fingers once.

"I would have been disappointed in you if you had done anything short of healing him, Barbara," Madame Pomfrey said. "This is fine work. Very fine work. I wish we could go ahead and send you to St. Mungo's now. Well, young man, you were lucky that Barbara was on hand to correct fruits of your folly."

"Yes, ma'am," Henry said. "I know that. Thanks again, Barbara."

"You're welcome, again," Barbara said.

"You may rejoin the others now, young man," Madame Pomfrey said.

Henry walked back to Chris and Hermione but he paid scant attention to the sorting ceremony. Almost every kid in the great hall was a total stranger so in what room he or she was going to sleep tonight did not pique Henry's interest. He let his eyes wander about him. There was no ceiling or, at least, it appeared so. Overhead, the night sky stretched from wall to wall. Henry knew that it was cold outside and it was warm in the great hall so he thought that the ceiling must be another illusion like the barrier at platform 9 ¾. Hundreds of candles that hung in midair without any means of support provided light for the room. Curiously, no wax dripped from the candles.

"Gallatin, Christopher."

Henry quickly snapped his eyes back to the stage. Chris gracefully mounted the dais. His hand moved inconsequentially but as he sat down, his robe did not bunch up. The hat scarcely touched his head before it shouted, "Gryffindor!"

Henry was surprised. The way Maggie had described the houses, Henry was certain that his brainy cousin would wind up in Ravenclaw.

"There are things that I don't know about Chris, I guess," Henry thought to himself as he applauded.

"Granger, Hermione"

Henry grinned. Whereas Christopher had mounted the dais with a show of dignity, Hermione charged it in enthusiasm almost snatching the hat from Professor McGonagall.

"Gryffindor!" the hat shouted.

Hermione walked to the end of the stage where Christopher was waiting. Curious as to where she would go, he had not yet joined his new housemates. He gave her a dazzling smile as she clasped his extended hand and stepped off the stage. Together they walked over to the cheering Gryffindor table.

"Get married already why don't you," a tall lanky red headed boy behind Henry grumbled.

Maggie and her friends joined Henry. "We're getting close." She said quietly as a kid named Longbottom was called for.

"Henry," Maggie continued. "These are my best friends in the whole world, Bess and Bridget MacNarney. They live in Hogsmeade just beyond the school grounds. This is Henry Porter of whom I spoke."

"Hi," Henry said.

"How do ya do?" the MacNarney sisters asked in a Scottish burr even more pronounced then Maggie's accent. They were stout, freckled faced, blue-eyed, redheaded twins of medium height. Henry got the immediate impression that the MacNarney girls were live wires.

"MacNarney, Bridget."

"Did they forget about you?" Henry asked Bess as Bridget walked to the stage.

"Of course not, ya daft lad," she said punching his arm lightly. "Bess is but a nickname, don't ya know. Me name is Elisabeth."

"Hufflepuff!"

Bess walked over to the steps to both hug her sister and get ready for her turn. Maggie walked over with her.

"MacNarney, Elisabeth."

'This makes you wish that your name was aardvark, doesn't it," the red headed boy asked.

"Yeah," a sleepy Henry agreed.

"Hufflepuff!" the hat cried causing the MacNarney sisters and Maggie to squeal in delight.

"Cor Blimey," said the redhead in response to the pain inducing octaves that the three girls hit.

"McGonagall, Margaret."

"We may want our fingers in our ears for this one," Henry said. "Just in case."

"Hufflepuff!"

Even with his ears covered, Henry heard the squeaky shouts of joy of the three life-long friends clearly. Maggie leaped off the stage into the arms of the twins and the three of them preceded hop around in a group hug. Arms linked together they ran over to the Hufflepuff table.

Professor McGonagall struggled to maintain her stern façade but she could not keep an indulgent smile from her lips as she watched the girls. With a visible effort, she returned to the task at hand. Henry, once again, let his mind drift away as a kid named Mott was called for.

"Mister Porter!"

"Yes?"

"Would you care to discover to what house you belong?" Professor McGonagall asked him sardonically holding the hat in her hand.

Henry realized that he had all but fallen asleep again and had missed hearing his name called. With the hall was ringing with laughter, he mounted the stage.

"Sorry." he said as he sheepishly sat down on the stool.

Professor McGonagall dropped the hat on his head. Henry's world immediately went black as the hat slid over his eyes. Out of the darkness came a rumbling chuckle that Henry recognized as the voice of the sorting hat.

"Well, well, well, it is he who is hidden in plain sight. Where do you belong? Clever, I see, yes, and intelligent, too. Courage in abundance. Tenacious and patient. You would do well no matter where I place you."

"So what's it gonna be?" Henry silently asked.

"Hufflepuff!"

Henry blinked at the sudden return of light. He nodded once at Professor McGonagall and carefully stepped off the stage. He waved to his cousin and Hermione and then walked over to the Hufflepuff table. Maggie, Bess, and Bridget immediately swarmed him.

"I got my oldest friends and my newest friend with me," Maggie gushed. "This is more than super."

There were only four kids left to sort but Henry gave up the struggle. He laid his head down on the table and fell asleep.


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1

The Misplaced Potter

Chapter 10 

_In which Henry is questioned_

Professor McGonagall had told Henry that he would find the study of magic challenging. Henry discovered her words to be true. What the professor failed to mention was that Hogwarts castle itself would also be challenging. The unexpected was the norm in the thousand-year old castle.

The castle had a great many floors and the classes, dormitories, and the great hall were scattered throughout the huge school so Henry and his classmates did a lot of walking up and down the scores of staircases and running down hallways. Henry, raised in a rural setting, was accustomed to walking and running a great deal and even city kids like Chris and Hermione were pleased to discover that their stamina was increasing daily. A problem that the kids faced was that the staircases, which provided so much exercise, would also randomly move. The stairs that Henry took to transfiguration class would not be there when his class was over.

Peeves the poltergeist was the bane of all the students. He could show up nearly anywhere and knew a million and one tricks to harass the kids. Henry arrived at Charms class soaking wet one day after Peeves dumped a bucket of what Henry truly hoped was just dirty water on him and Justin Finch-Fletchley, a fellow Hufflepuff classmate. Fortunately, Professor Flitwick was able to get them dry and clean with only one spell.

Henry found that trying to use landmarks such as portraits or suits of armor to help him navigate through the castle was useless. The suits of armor stayed in one place even less often than the stairs. They were bolted to the floor, however, when compared to the portraits. The painted figures had a mania about visiting other paintings. Henry was not surprised to discover that magically painted portraits could also move after seeing the animated photographs in the book he bought at Flourish and Blott's. He was also sympathetic to the figures' boredom. They had, after all, been hanging on a wall for several centuries but it was hard to remember to turn down the left hallway when you passed the painting of the two reapers when the two reapers refused to stay in their frame.

Most of the classes were very demanding. The foundation of magic, Henry learned, was a set of principles every bit as rigid as was anything in the scientific world. There was a right way to do something and an infinite number of ways to do it wrong and attempting to do magic the wrong way could have severe even fatal consequences. Learning those principles required hard study.

Transfiguration and Charms proved to be the two most difficult classes for Henry because the subject matter was so alien to him. Primary school language arts and arithmetic had not prepared him in any way, shape, or form to attempt to levitate a feather or transform a matchstick into a pin.

Professor Binns, the History of Magic teacher, was a ghost who spoke in a coma- inducing monotone but the history itself was fascinating to Henry. He wondered how the magic folk managed to fight so many bloody wars with trolls, giants, and goblins and still kept muggle Britain in the dark as to their existence.

Professor Quirrell, a pale, nervous, man who spoke with a stutter, taught the Defense against the Dark Arts class He always wore a rather peculiar smelling turban on his head. Henry did not mind the stutter and he made allowances for the odor that lingered about the professor but he did not understand why it was that the professor did not in fact teach anything remotely resembling self-defense. He would ramble on about dangerous creatures without actually saying anything about what to do in an encounter with one.

Henry enjoyed Herbology because it was hands-on and very practical. Professor Sprout, a plump, buoyant woman of indeterminate years, taught it. She always wore a large floppy hat from under which her salt and pepper hair flow out in every direction. The plants that grew in the greenhouse were key ingredients in many potions or used in healing salves. Many of the plants were commonplace such as mints or spices but many others were nothing like the vegetables that Henry's mother raised in her garden. None of the plants in greenhouse number one was dangerous Professor Sprout assured the first year students. Yet more the one unwary student had turned to move only to trip because some plant had wrapped several vines around his ankles.

Astronomy and potions were the two easiest classes for Henry. His mother was an astrobuff and had been pointing out stars, constellations and planets to Henry since he was a very small child. The Porters never missed viewing an eclipse and meteor showers were an excuse to picnic under the stars so Henry came into that class with more knowledge about the night sky then most of his classmates.

Potions class was also comparatively easy for Henry because to him it was a matter of just following instructions. Professor Snape, the potions teacher, was a black-haired, black-eyed, black-tempered man with an intimidating personality. He was quick to berate and ridicule any student who made an error in brewing and only grudgingly passed along an atom of praise.

Henry did not care for the harshness of Professor Snape's language but he found it hard to be sympathetic to his fellow students at times. Professor Snape would have all of the steps in brewing that lesson's potion clearly written on the chalkboard. He would explain the process before hand and the potion recipes, as Henry thought of them, were in their textbook.

"What more do you want?" Henry thought when another student managed to fill the room with smoke or melted his cauldron because he skipped a step. "You have to try tomess up to do so."

It was after the third class when Professor Snape first spoke to Henry beyond the occasional phrase or a grunt that he would utter as he prowled amongst the students during the brewing process.

"A moment of your time, Porter," Professor Snape said as everyone was filing out at the end of class.

Henry sat his bag down and straightened his hat and robe.

"Yes, sir?" he asked as he stood before the teacher's desk.

"I am curious about you, Porter," Snape said. "How is it that an American is here at Hogwarts?"

"I know I don't sound like it, sir, but I am English," Henry told him. "It's just that I spent most of my life in America."

"Your parents immigrated to America to escape the troubles with the Dark Lord, I take it?" The Potions teacher asked.

"The Dark Lord? If you mean Voldemort, no sir," Henry replied. "I never even heard of him until I got here. My dad's a horse trainer and he got hired to work at a stable in Kentucky so that's why we moved there."

"You are not from a wizarding family?" the professor asked staring intently at Henry.

"No," Henry said. "I thought that magic was just something in storybooks until my cousin and me got selected to come here."

"You have a cousin here at Hogwarts?"

Henry nodded. "Chris Gallatin. He's a first year like me except he's in Gryffindor. His mom and my mom are sisters."

It was Professor Snape's turn to nod. "You are doing well in class," he said. "You show some promise as a brewer. At least they taught you to read in Kentucky. Some of your classmates lead me to believe that it may well be a dying art here in Britain. That is all, Potter. Good day."

"It's Porter, sir,"

"A slip of the tongue, Porter," Snape said.

A frowning Snape watched the small boy as he gathered his bag and left.

"He told the truth," a curious Snape thought. "Nothing but the honest truth."

Chris, Henry, and Hermione were walking together to the library the following evening. Henry had told them during lunch that the ten Hufflepuff first years gathered every night after supper in the library. There they would review their lessons and study for the upcoming classes. Chris and Hermione, who had been studying together on their own, quickly asked to join in with them.

"The more the merrier," Henry said. "But don't the Gryffindors do this?"

Hermione snorted. "Them? A study group? I don't know why half of them bothered to buy the textbooks. I have yet to see any of them open one."

"I guess that the kids from the wizarding families already know a lot of the basics," Henry replied.

"If some of the answers I have heard in class are a sign of anything," Chris said. "We muggleborns don't start out as far behind as the wizard kids like to make out."

"Just because we never heard of quidditch they act like we are mouth breathing drool monkeys," Hermione growled. "Playing catch on broomsticks, honestly."

"By the way, Professor Snape was asking me about you today," Chris said quickly to head off another Hermione tirade about quidditch. "He wanted to know if we were cousins and if you were truly English."

"I assume you denied all knowledge of me thrice," Henry joked.

"I should have but I didn't," Chris replied lightly. "No, I told him our mothers were sisters and that you were born in Surrey. I did point out that I was more mature, of course, seeing as I was born July 30th and you are two days younger."

"Well, we really don't know that for sure, do we?" Henry said pushing open the door to the library.

"Oh no, you don't," Chris said. "The evidence is clear. I am older."

"If age is an indication of maturity," Hermione said. "I must say that I'll turn twelve next week."

"What a sly way to hint for a birthday party," Chris teased.

"Hey, everyone," Henry said as he approached the table of Hufflepuff first years. "I got a couple of Gryffindors who want to join us."

"The more the merrier," said Ernie MacMillan, unknowingly echoing Henry.


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: see chapter 1

The Misplaced Potter

Chapter 11

_In which a troll is fought_

"Oh, no," Hermione moaned.

With her hand over her mouth, she broke from the Gryffindor ranks and ran for the nearest girl's lavatory. She had thrown up twice already that day but stubbornly refused to see Madame Pomfrey.

Chris wanted to follow her into the loo for sympathy's sake but she had handed him his head when he had done that earlier in the day. After their shaky start on the train, Chris and Hermione had developed a solid friendship between them. Chris discovered that despite her claims to the contrary, Hermione had many sterling qualities and he waspleased to have her as his friend. She, nevertheless, did have one wicked temper and a very sharp tongue when that temper was lost. Discretion being the better part of valor even for a Gryffindor, he reluctantly continued on to the great hall and the Halloween feast that awaited there.

Chris was amazed at the decorations in the hall. Just inside the main doors, a quartet of animated wooden skeletons played lively dance tunes on a fiddle, bodhran, guitar, and tambourine. Truly humongous jack o'lanterns, any one of which Cinderella could readily use for her carriage, sat in each corner. Hundreds of bats swooped overhead. The ever-present ghosts added the perfect final addition.

The feast, however, had scarcely began when a wild-eyed panic stricken Professor Quirrell came running into the great hall with his turban askew. He skidded to a halt before Professor Dumbledore at the staff table.

"There's a troll in the dungeon," he stammered in breathless voice and promptly fainted. A troll in the dungeon meant nothing to Chris but the instant pandemonium that erupted in the hall told him that it was on a scale somewhat greater then a mouse in the cupboard.

Wide spread panic was averted, however, when Professor Dumbledore stood and set off several detonations with his wand. Everyone froze and every eye turned to the headmaster.

"Prefects," he said in strong, calm voice as he tossed a glass of pumpkin juice into the supine Professor Quirrell's face. "You shall, in an orderly fashion, take each of your houses back to your dormitories. Teachers, follow me to the dungeon."

"Gryffindors, to me," Percy Weasley, one of the Gryffindor prefects, called out assuredly. "There is nothing to fear. Stay together and follow me."

Percy Weasley was a pompous popinjay in Chris' opinion but he had to admit thatthe prefectwas handling the emergency very well. His self-assurance was a balm to the nerves of several of his charges that were seconds ago ready to run screaming into the night. In short order, Percy had the Gryffindor house students together and moving out of the great hall in a reasonably orderlyfashion.

One thing that Percy could not control was the foot traffic. As it happened, to get to their respective dormitories, the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs had to cross paths. The unity of ranks was quickly lost as both groups tried to move through each other without knocking each other down.

"Oh, Damn," Chris said as he abruptly stopped.

"What is it?" Henry asked as he found himself face to face with his cousin.

"It's Hermione," he replied. She got sick and went to the girl's loo around the corner from the great hall. She doesn't know about the troll."

Henry spun him around. "Just follow us," he said. "We can cut down the next hallway and head back to her."

With a quick glance at his prefect, Chris joined in with the Hufflepuff mob.

The two boys darted down the corridor as soon as they came abreast of it. They rounded a corner when Chris grabbed Henry by the robe.

"Someone's coming," he hissed.

They jumped into the nearest room. Through a barely creaked open door, they spied Professor Snape running in the opposite direction.

"I thought the teachers were going to the dungeon," Chris said.

"I guess Dumbledore sent him to check some place else out," Henry said. "C'mon, the coast is clear."

Exercising more caution, the two boys continued down the hallway. They were nearing their destination when anincredibly foul odor assailed their noses.

"What is that smell," Chris groaned waving a hand in front of his nose. Before Henry could venture a guess a frightened scream rang out.

"Hermione," both boys shouted.

Without thinking and without hesitation, both boys ran to the aid of their friend. Water was shooting out of broken pipes when they burst through the door. They saw Hermione cowering in a corner. In the midst of the room was the troll. It stood over twelve feet high. A tiny head incongruently perched on colossal shoulders that swallowed any neck that the creature may have had. Sickly yellow skin peeked through long stands of thick mud matted hair that cover the creature from shoulders to the tops of its feet. In its hand was an enormous club.

The troll was methodically advancing on a cornered Hermione, swinging its huge club as it moved forward. Twisted lengths of metal and chunks of busted porcelain littered the lavatory floor where the troll had destroyed stalls and sinks in his effort to get Hermione.

"We're boned," Henry said faintly as he grabbed a piece of what had once been a commode.

"Spread out," Chris ordered as he picked up a heavy piece of pipe.

"Get ready to run, Hermione," He yelled as he flung the pipe at the troll's head.

It caught the troll solidly and it turned around on;y to have the commode chunk that Henry threw hit it in the chest. Hermione immediately rolled to the other corner. Her exit was still blocked but she was further from the troll. Henry and Chris began to rain a barrage of debris on the troll and continued to yell in hopes of distracting it. The troll wavered between attacking both boys but the reverberations of the shouts and the hailstorm of broken ceramics did not allow the slow thinking creature time to make a decision. Finally, in frustration, it swung his club and smashing the last remaining stall. The destroyed remains flew toward the two boys causing both to dive to the floor.

The troll's sharp ears heard Hermione moving behind it. With a roar,it turned on its heel and advanced on her. Hermione threw a piece of tile into the troll's face as Chris leaped to his feet and hurled himself on to the troll's back. He wrapped his arms tightly around its neck. The troll, bellowing in anger, tried to get Chris off by shaking its shoulders.

"Do something, Henry!" Chris shouted, his legs flying back and forth like a pendulum. "Before it remembers that it has a club."

Near Henry's hand was a long section of metal that had a sharp and jagged end. Henry snatched it up and charged the troll like a lancer. The metal tore deep into the troll's leg, cruelly ripping calf muscle, tendons and ligaments. Chris launched himself from the troll's back as it fell to its knees shrieking in agony.

Howling and rolling in pain, the troll lashed out blindly. A massive forearm sailed only inches over Hermione's head as she tried to get by. Hermione frantically dove away from the troll and collided with the wall. Henry was less fortunate. The troll swung its club swiftly catching Henry squarely in the ribs. He went flying backwards.

Hermione frenetically looked about her through the debris and the water as the troll struggled to rise. Spying the young girl, it raised its club and came toward her, dragging its useless leg along.

"I can't find my wand, Chris," Hermione yelled. "Use yours! Use magic on it!"

Chris pushed himself off the floor, pulled his wand from his robes, and pointed it at the troll. He shouted the first spell that came to his mind, the spell that they had practiced in Charms that morning.

"_Wingardium Leviosa!_"

The troll's club wrenched itself from the grip of the troll and rose several feet above it. The troll stopped and stared at its empty hand. It finally saw the club floating several feet above its head. He stared up at it in confusion.

"Drop it! Drop it! Drop it" Hermione madly shouted when she noticed the position of the club.

Chris released the club from the spell and gravity took over. The club rapidly descended, catching the troll solidly between the eyes. The troll crashed to the floor splashing water about the room.

A haze of dust hung in the air as a dripping wet Hermione shakily got to her feet. Her hair hung in lank strands and she was bleeding from a cut on her chin. Chris, his own hands badly cut and scraped, stepped over a toilet seat and pieces of porcelain and steel to get to her side.

"Is it dead," Hermione finally asked in a weak voice.

"I think that it's just knocked out," Chris replied, his own voice unsteady. "Are you all right?"

"Yes," she answered. "Yourself?"

"Okay," he said. "How about you, Henry? Henry?"

Hermione screamed as Chris looked back. Gore clung to the rough, sharp edges of a shattered wall sink. Below it, Henry lay in a heap on the floor, his unmoving body lying in an ever-widening pool of blood.


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1

The Misplaced Potter

Chapter 12

_In which Henry leaves St. Mungo's_

Barbara stopped walking down the corridor at St. Mungo's hospital a moment Maggie after did.

"What is it?" Barbara asked.

Maggie looked up at the blonde teen-ager with naked anxiety.

"He is alright now, isn't he?" She asked fearfully. "Some of what the others kids have said about his injuries were horrible."

Barbara looked Maggie in the eye. "I seriously doubt that what the others have said is anywhere a near match to how extensive Henry's injuries truly were. The sphenoid bones, vomer bone, nasal septum, nasal skeleton, and the zygoma were pulverized by the blunt force trauma. He also had several broken ribs and a punctured lung not to mention the lacerations and abrasions."

"Ribs and lung I know," Maggie said. "What was all that other stuff?"

"Henry essentially no longer had a face. Even his eyes were destroyed," Barbara said candidly causing Maggie to gasp. "Even with all of that he was very lucky. If his head had collided with that sink just a few millimeters higher, he would have been killed outright. Are you friend enough to him to still go into his ward?"

The short girl wavered then straightened. Barbara could see determination replace fear in the girl's eyes.

"I'm his friend no matter how he looks," she replied with resolve. "The person inside remains the same."

"Are you certain?" Barbara asked. "We still have twenty feet to go. You can leave and return to Hogwarts and Henry would never know."

"But I would," Maggie said. "Let's go."

Barbara pushed opened the door.

"This is the psych ward, right, where they house the lunatics mad enough to wrestle trolls?" She called out.

"No," Henry replied. "That's next door. This is where they put guys dumb enough to listen to girls who tell them to go wrestle trolls."

"I thought that it was safe advice," Barbara retorted. "It's a well know fact that guys don't listen anyway."

Maggie stared at Henry during the banter. He looked a bit different but he was not scarred or mutilated and he definitely had a face. Maggie looked from Henry to Barbara in mystification. Henry caught her expression.

"What were you expecting?" he asked.

"Something terrible," she blurted out as she ran to him.

Henry laughed as Maggie hugged him fiercely. "I've been in here for five weeks, Maggie. You saw Barbara here repair my hand in only minutes."

"I know but she told me how dreadfully hurt you were," she said. "She even said that you were blind."

Henry's expression clouded at the memory of waking up blind. He had never known such stark terror before not even with the troll. He could not bring himself to believe the healers when they assured him that they had artificial magic eyes that would give him back his vision. He had cried in relief when they placed the new eyes into his empty sockets and he saw the world for the first time in nearly a month.

"The healers said that someone from Hogwarts would be coming to take me back today." Henry said moving away from the subject. "You guys are it, I guess."

"Yes." Barbara said hefting a book bag onto his bed. "Ernie MacMillan packed you a change of clothes from your trunk unless you now think hospital gowns are the height of fashion."

"No, I think that I would like to have my backside covered when I leave here," Henry said grabbing the bag as he headed for the lavatory.

Maggie giggled when she saw that the gown indeed did not cover the entire body. Barbara gave out a teasing whistle, which caused Henry to scurry into the other room.

Barbara waited until Henry closed the lavatory door.

"How does he seem to you?" she asked quietly.

"He looks fine," Maggie said. "He doesn't quite look as he did. The nose is thinner I believe and the eyes are different, well you know what I mean, the shape of the eyes but he looks perfectly normal. You had me thinking that he would be like some monster or something."

"You showed a lot of character walking through the door expecting that, Maggie," Barbara said approvingly. "But what I'm asking is how does his behavior strike you?"

"I don't know what you mean," Maggie replied.

"As you can see with Henry, most physical injuries can be healed," Barbara explained. "But head trauma, especially trauma to the frontal lobes, can result in personality changes."

"He seems alright, I guess," Maggie said after some thought.

Barbara nodded. "If he starts exhibiting unusual behaviors such as angry or violent outbursts, inform me or Madame Pomfrey or Professor Sprout."

"He beat up two guys in a train station and fought a troll," Maggie replied. "I think that he was violent before the injury."

"I sure that you are smart enough to be able to distinguish amongst differing violent actions," the blonde teen said seriously. "Fighting two boys is hardly the same as if he began to lash out at you or the MacNarney girls."

The lavatory door opened before Maggie could reply. Henry strolled back into the ward wearing blue jeans and a long sleeved sky blue shirt. He was carrying a jacket and the book bag.

"Do you know what happened to my boots?" Henry asked eyeing the trainers on his feet.

"They were soaked with blood and water," Barbara said. "By the time that anyone thought of performing a cleaning charm on them the leather was too far gone."

"Oh, well," Henry said with a shrug. "They were beginning to get tight."

"You do take matters in stride, don't you, Henry?" Barbara asked.

"I'm walking out of a hospital when I could have just as easily been buried for a month," he replied. "A pair of boots is hardly a big deal."

Magical hospital or not, there was paperwork to be done before Henry could leave. After signing several forms and showing the authorization from the headmaster to allow her to escort Henry from St. Mungo's to three different administrators, Barbara was finally able to leave with her charges.

"Are you ready to return to Hogwarts?" she asked them.

"I'd like to go to my Aunt Caroline's first. My mom's been staying there all month," Henry said. "St. Mungo's has some strict rules about muggles in the hospital so she's only been allowed to see me a couple of times. It'll be a relief to her and dad if she sees that I'm okay."

"They didn't tell me that side trips weren't allowed," Barbara said who would have violated a direct order to the contrary in this case. "Where does she live?"

Henry gave her his aunt's London address.

"There's a tube station nearby," Barbara said. "But I don't have any muggle money, do you?"

Maggie and Henry shook their heads.

"Very well then, what's the use of going to Hogwarts if you don't learn a spell or two that can get you on the underground?" she asked mischievously.

The group found themselves in the Gallatin's sitting room an hour later. Danielle Porter alternated between hugging Henry close to her and holding him at arms length staring at his newly grown face as the others sipped tea.

"I can't believe the work that they've done on you," Mrs. Porter said joyously. "It truly is magic."

"I look a little different, mom" Henry pointed out.

"You're alive and healthy," she replied. "That's all that matters. What ever face you have, I love the son behind it."

"It's a shame that your people keep those synthetic eyes a secret," Mrs. Gallatin said to Barbara as they sat together on the sofa in the sitting room. "So many people could benefit from them."

"I know," Barbara replied sadly, "But the conventional wisdom is that we need to remain incognito and those eyes aren't anything mechanical or electronic. They operate solely on magic."

"But you pluck kids from of ordinary families and send them to your school," Mrs. Gallatin argued. "That gives you away."

"Yes," the teen-ager replied. "And some of us marry muggles but that gives ourselves away to a handful of people a year that then have a vested interest in keeping the secret. We cannot risk the repercussions that entire societies may bring upon us. We can defend ourselves but at what cost?"

"She's probably right, Caroline," Mrs. Porter said forlornly. "Over in Kentucky and other parts of America, every year there are people who object to _The Wizard of Oz_ or _A Wrinkle in Time_ being in school or public libraries. What would they do if they knew that there were societies of people that they would consider satanic spawn?"

"A handful of ignorant gits," Mrs. Gallatin grumbled.

"Undoubtedly ignorant even if sincere and perhaps even a very small minority," Barbara rejoined. "But we are a small nation and can't risk the unpredictability of mobs."

"But look at London." Mrs. Gallatin responded. "We are the most multiethnic, multicultural city in the world and we co-exist with one another very well."

"Mrs. Gallatin," Barbara began after a sip of tea. "Two women own two restaurants on the same block. One succeeds while one fails. People say that one had better food or better service or was a better manger. Same situation but one of the women is a known witch and her restaurant is the one that succeeds. How many muggles could be convinced that she used charms to lure customers to her or curses to hinder her rival?"

Mrs. Gallatin gave the young woman a long speculative look. Slowly she nodded. "Too many for your people's comfort, more then likely," she said finally. "You have a well trained mind, Barbara. I can see that Christopher will be well educated at Hogwarts."


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: See chapter 1

The Misplaced Potter

Chapter 13

_In which Henry returns to Hogwarts_

"Henry Porter's back," someone from the Hufflepuff table shouted as he, Maggie, and Barbara entered the great hall during supper

The large ovation that erupted that both embarrassed and deeply touched Henry. He was still a stranger to most of the students yet kids from all four houses applauded and cheered him in welcome. Henry headed toward the Hufflepuff table but the headmaster had other plans. He moved to the front of the staff dining table and beckoned Henry to him.

"Welcome back, Mr. Porter," he said warmly when Henry was at his side before turning to face the hall. With a friendly arm around Henry's shoulders, he spoke to the students.

"Mr. Porter, having concluded that he had ignored his studies for long enough has decided to return to us," Dumbledore said lightly. "I think that I can safely say that all of us at Hogwarts are delighted with his decision."

"Do you wish to say anything, Henry," Dumbledore asked quietly as more cheering erupted.

"I just want to thank everyone for all the letters that you wrote to me while I was recovering from my, uh, misadventure," Henry said. "All of them meant a lot to me especially when my spirits were kinda low. I must say that the toilet seat that was sent to me that had 'The _hole_ of Hogwarts awaits your return' written on it was a big hit amongst the healers."

Henry walked over to the Hufflepuff table as the laughter and applause died away. His housemates quickly surrounded him. It was several minutes before Henry could take a chair.

"Do you have room for a pair of wandering Gryffindors?" Chris asked as he and Hermione walked over to their table.

"There is always room for the two of you," Ernie MacMillan said.

"You can see as well as ever?" Justin Finch-Fletchley, a muggleborn, asked in amazement as Chris and Hermione sat down.

"Better really," Henry answered. "I don't need glasses anymore."

"You don't look quite the same," Susan Bones observed. "The eyes are the same color but your face is just a bit different."

"Is that better or worse?" Henry asked.

"Are you fishing for complements, Henry?" Hannah asked.

"No, not really," Henry said. "It's just that I still haven't gotten used to the face I see in the mirror yet."

"Tis no great improvement," Bridget said.

"But none the worse, mind ya," Bess added.

"As painful as growing the face bones back was I was just glad when it was over," Henry said honestly. "I could have turned out butt ugly and been glad that I wouldn't have to go through any more."

"Your bum isn't ugly," Maggie said without thinking.

Dead silence and stares met that statement. Maggie's face turned a deep crimson as several grins appeared around her.

"Spill, girl," Susan said.

"The hospital gown that I was wearing was backless," Henry said coming to the floundering girl's rescue. "I accidentally mooned them. I had gotten so used to walking about in it with the staff around that I didn't think about turning my back on Maggie and Barbara."

Laughter exploded at the end of the Hufflepuff table. Henry and Maggie were subjected to some good-natured catcalls and kidding.

"If we were still in the muggle world, you would have been horribly scarred and be blind right now," Justin pointed out as the ribbing died down. "If you survived, at all."

"Yeah, that's true," Henry replied. "But I don't remember any trolls roaming the halls of my old muggle school either."

"I've known Professor Dumbledore all of my life but I have never seen him as furious as he was after they took you to St. Murgo's," Maggie said. "The only way the troll could have gotten in to Hogwarts was for someone to have let him in."

"I thought that he was going to kill Professor Quirrell for turning tail and not doing anything to keep the troll in the dungeon," Ernie said. "My grandfather can swear enough to make a marble statute blush but I learned three or four new words as Dumbledore gave Quirrell that tongue lashing."

"I wouldn't have thought that Professor Dumbledore would have chewed out a teacher in front of the students," Henry said with a frown.

"He didn't," Chris assured him. "They were in Quirrell's office when he dressed him down but you could hear Dumbledore over half the castle. That skinny old man has can bellow with any parade ground sergeant when he gets going. As nervous as he is, I'm surprised that Quirrell didn't curl up and die."

"I felt rather sorry for Professor Quirrell," Hermione said.

"Professor Dumbledore had a point, Hermione," Maggie responded. "He's a fully trained wizard and a teacher who is responsible for the safety of the students yet he did nothing to capture or even slow down the troll. I'm surprised that Dumbledore didn't give him the sack."

"So, what did we cover in the last five weeks?" Henry asked trying to get off the subject.

"Ah, lad," Bess said with a grin. "Ya at the bottom o' the mountain and the avalanche is a-comin'."


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1

The Misplaced Potter

Chapter 14

_In which there is an unexpected encounter_

"The library is closing now," Ted Marston, a sixth year Ravenclaw who was that evening's library assistant, said as he came around the shelf.

Chris, Henry, and Hermione were sitting at a table littered with scrolls and books. Upon his return, Henry quickly found that Bess' description as to his workload to be an apt one. As is with any education the foundation of current lessons is the mastery of previous ones. Thus, Henry found himself in the unenviable position of trying to learn the material that his teachers were going through everyday in class while spending his evenings with his fellow Hufflepuffs and Chris and Hermione catching up on what he had missed.

'Thanks, Ted," Hermione said to the library aide.

Henry groaned. "I'm beginning to think that I missed more than five weeks."

Ted chuckled. "I know what you mean. I missed two weeks during my third year and it felt as if I was behind for the rest of that term. Just be glad that this didn't happen during your OWL year. You would have thought that you were doomed. You three have a happy Christmas."

"Happy Christmas, Ted," Chris and Hermione replied as they stood and began stuffing books into his bag.

"Merry Christmas, Ted," a yawning Henry said while he collected his things.

"Yank," Chris teased.

"At least the teachers won't be throwing anything new at me over the break. I think that I might just about be about even by the time classes resume if I work hard over Christmas." Henry said zipping his backpack closed.

The cousins and Hermione quickly cleared the table leaving only the reference books neatly stacked on a corner. After one last look around and under the table for anything that might have rolled away, they left the library.

"I want to thank you guys," Henry said. "You've been a life saver for me."

"No, Henry, I have lent you a helping hand is all," Hermione said. "You are the life saver. Besides it is helping me to review everything."

"I guess your parents will be glad to see you tomorrow," Henry said. "It must have given them a good scare when they learned about the troll."

"Ah, ya daft lad," Hermione replied in a dead on imitation of the MacNarney sisters' accent. "Ya dinna think I was fool enough to tell me ma and pa, do ya?"  
"So the word troll will not come out of your mouth when you meet my parents tomorrow," she continued in her own voice. "WILL it?"

"To be safe I think that I'll avoid all words beginning with 'T' tomorrow," Henry replied.

"They wouldn't believe it anyway," Chris said. "If it wasn't for Henry being in the hospital, I'm sure that my parents could not have."

"There is no need in taking risks if you don't have to," Hermione replied. "So please avoid the subject tomorrow and anytime you're around my parents for the next thirty years."

They paused as they came to a staircase.

"Alas the parting," Chris said expansively. "Hermione and I ascend to the height of the clouds while you must trudge down to the bowels of the earth."

"Control your envy. I know that you suffer in Gryffindor's rickety, drafty tower while I live in warmth and comfort in Hufflepuff's oversized hobbit-hole," Henry replied in like manner.

"Hobbit-hole," Hermione laughed. "You know, when you think about it the Hufflepuffs are very hobbit like. Most of you are short, stocky, diligent people who enjoy their simple pleasures and comforts and who don't give a damn about what the rest of the world thinks about them."

"If that be the case than good night, Frodo," Chris said. "We'll see you at breakfast before we headto the train."

"Good night, Aragorn," Henry yawned. "Sleep well, Arwen."

Hermione and Chris walked up the stairs while Henry headed down the hallway for a staircase that would take him to his dormitory. The one he found however decided to swing into another position before Henry had taken five steps.

"That is the forbidden wing, you idiot," Henry grumbled but the staircase did not listen.

He started back up the steps when the other end dropped down also but not to the second floor. The stairs merely stopped in midair some forty feet above the stone floor of the main foyer.

'Talk about the last step being a doozy," Henry quipped in disgust.

Grumbling to himself, Henry climbed up to the third floor. Mrs. Norris, the caretaker's cat was sitting there with her golden eyes gleaming. Every student learned rapidly that where she was, Mr. Filch would soon be.

"Wonderful," Henry said as he took to his heels in hopes of finding a more cooperative set of stairs "Just bloody wonderful."

Henry rounded a corner to find himself at the beginning of a very dimly lit corridor.

"Where is the miscreant, Mrs. Norris?" Henry heard the caretaker said.

Turning back what have put him in plain view so Henry ran as silently as he could down the dark corridor. After twenty yards, he stopped in surprise. His eyes had adjusted to the dark and more. Looking slowly around him, he could clearly see everything in the passageway.

"It's like having the eyes of an owl," he thought in wonder.

Henry heard Mr. Filch coming toward the corner so he resumed running down the corridor. Henry was thankful that his boots had been ruined otherwise he would have been wearing them and his footfalls would be echoing down the hall to Mr. Filch's sharp ears. Henry's good fortune, however, ended as abruptly as the passageway.

"A dead end," Henry said to himself in irritation.

"Who's down there?" Mr. Filch cried out.

"Like I gonna answer," Henry thought as he rapidly looked around him for a way to escape.

Further down the wall, he spied a heavy door with an old-fashioned wooden latch bar. The bar refused to budge when Henry tried it. Looking over his shoulder, he saw that Mr. Filch was moving slowing down the corridor. He had found himself a torch, which he kept thrusting behind the statutes and columns to ensure that his quarry was not hiding.

"Okay, Henry John, think," he thought to himself. "We studied a charm to open doors. What was it? Heaven's door. Heaven is paradise. America's paradise is Hawaii. Hawaii…Aloha. Alohomora!"

Henry pulled his wand from his robes and pointed it at the door.

"Alohomora," He whispered as loudly as he dared.

The latch lifted. Henry swiftly pushed the door open anddarted inside. The room, which he found himself in, was a small windowless chamber with a high ceiling and a giant three-headed dog. The dog, startled out of sleep, was slow to react. Henry, pumped with adrenaline already, was not. His mind scarcely registered the trapdoor in the floor before he flung it open and dove through just faster then the snarling dog's snapping teeth.

Henry expected steps but instead found himself falling down a large shaft. He mentally prepared for a hard landing but something at the base of the shaft cushioned the impact. Henry instinctively rolled forward. As soon as his feet felt a stone floor, he ran several steps then leaped to a wall clutching his wand to his pounding chest.

Henry had no idea how far he had fallen but he knew that it had been a goodly ways. He took several slow deep breaths and waited for his heart to leave his throat as he cautiously gazed around him trying to spot anything familiar. He was in a narrow cobweb filled passageway but the dust on the floor had several footprints in it so Henry knew that somebody, some bodies he corrected himself as he noticed the differing sizes of the prints had been here recently.

Curiously, Henry looked back up the passageway to see what had cushioned his fall so effectively.

"Devil's Snare," he gasped in surprise. "Henry John, you are one lucky so and so."

Holding his wand before him, Henry warily walked down the darkened corridor. His ears strained but they caught no sound other then his own breathing. The corridor was devoid of any objects. There were no niches in the walls and nothing hung from the ceiling other then spider webs.

After but a few yards, the corridor ended in a much cluttered antechamber. Several barrels and wooden boxes were stacked about. Four brooms leaned against a long table. A broken chair rested on three legs in a corner. There was a door in the wall opposite the passageway.

Henry looked up. The ceiling was far above him.

"Probably ends at the third floor," he thought. "By that dog's room."

Henry tried the knob but found that the door locked. The _alohomora_ charm did not affect the lock at all. Frustrated, he sat down on a box to plan his next step. The truth of the matter was now that his fear wasdispelling Henry was getting angry.

"All I wanted to do was to take a nicehot shower andcrawl into a nice warmbed," Henry thought as his irritation increased. "What is with this friggin' castle that it won't even allow me to do that without a hassle?"

Henry's eyes fell on the brooms.

"It's obvious that no one sweeps down," he thought walking over to them.

"Up!" he barked.

A broomstick leaped into Henry's open hand. Madam Hooch, the flying instructor, had been surprised how readily that Henry took to riding a broomstick and had told Henry so.

"Let's see how much I have learned about flying," Henry said.

He walked down the corridor to the edge of the shaft. A few ambitious tentacles snaked toward Henry as he came to the devil's snare. He mounted the broom and took a deep breath.

"Alright, kick it," he said as he leaned as far forward on the stick as he could. Henry rocketed upwards and blasted thought the still open trapdoor causing all three heads of the dog to yelp as it scooted backwards. He executed a midair loop and dove toward the exit, which he had left ajar.

He spotted a lantern ahead halfway down the corridor.

"You told me to get you if any student was wandering around at night," Henry heard Mr. Filch say in the glow of the lamp.

"Quite right," said Professor Snape whom Henry could now see clearly. "What's that sound?"

Henry shot between both men just over their heads sending them diving to the floor. A loud metallic clanging told Henry that one of them had crashed into a suit of armor but he did not look back. He flew over the railing and dove for the ground floor alarming some house elves and a ghost. Turning the broom Henry sped for the stairwell that led to his room.

He landed before the large tapestry of a rural scene that was the entryway to the Hufflepuff dormitory.

"I haven't seen anyone ride a broom in the castle for nearly ten years," the Fat Friar said lightly as he floated over to Henry. "Is there anything that you wish to confess, my son."

"Have you ever felt like the castle was out to get you?" Henry asked as he hopped off the broom.

The ghost laughed merrily. "Life is ever an adventure at Hogwarts. The unexpected can be exasperating at times but it adds a zest to the days and I can assure you that there is no malevolence in the spirit of the castle."

"Exasperating sums up the last half an hour neatly," Henry said. He then yawned widely surprising himself. He thought that he would be keyed up to fall asleep readily.

"Go to bed, Henry," the friar ordered kindly. "And have a Happy Christmas."

"Merry, I mean, Happy Christmas to you," Henry said to the departing ghost.

Henry watched the ghost float away then turned to the wall hanging.

"Winter wheat," he said.

The doors of the tapestry barn opened. Broom in hand; Henry ducked into the Hufflepuff dormitory, finally.


	15. Chapter 15

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1

_The Misplaced Potter_

Chapter 15

_In which nothing happens_

Henry found himself confined to Hogwarts Castle after Christmas break. Not due to any wrongdoing on his part for no one knew that he was the student that dared trespass on the third floor but due to the harshness of the highland winter. A thick blanket of snow all but buried the grounds for three months. Professor Sprout had to melt pathways to the greenhouses for her and for the students daily. The weather had even caused the cancellation of further flying lessons.

Henry and his classmates immersed themselves in their studies to pass the long, cold days. In addition to their classes and their nightly study sessions, they also found themselves delving into singular interests of their own. This became a necessity for continued harmony amongst them because the constant confinement with each other became grating upon everyone's nerves. The quirks and peccadilloes that each of them had that were easy to overlook in the autumn were sources of irritation in winter.

Daily calisthenics had always been a part of Henry's routine but he and Chris throw themselves into a frenzy of exercise in an effort to keep the frustrations of their confinement at bay more then a desire to get stronger physically. Hermione would sit in an out of the way empty classroom for hours and practice her flute. Maggie and the MacNarney girls would spend much of their free time designing and sewing dresses for themselves.

Winter gave way to spring grudgingly but Henry still found himself a virtual prisoner. As a first former, he could not partake in the occasional forays into the village and the grounds remained uninviting as the frequent spring rains kept the lawns a quagmire. Hermione added to the restraints on Henry's movement in March by devising study schedules for everyone.

"Look at the calendar," she said. "Year end exams are scant weeks away. We really ought to have done this a month sooner."

"Has she always been like this?" Ron Weasley asked Henry in a whisper as Hermione passed around the schedules to the study group. Ron's mother had sent him a howler in January after she received Professor McGonagall's letter informing her that her youngest son had hereto now shown little interest in his class work. Ron had joined the Hufflepuff study group that very evening had had not miss a session since then.

"At least since September," Henry replied as he read the programme that she had outlined.

"This is great, Hermione," Ernie gushed with enthusiasm. "This will definitely make our meetings far more productive.

"What we truly need is someplace where we can practice brewing potions," Susan said. "Hannah and I asked Professor Snape if we could use his classroom but he refused."

"You grew up here, Maggie," Chris said. "Don't you know of a room that would be suitable?"

Maggie shrugged. "Half the castle is empty so I'm sure that there is. I'll ask the house elves and see what they say. They would know what room would be best for our needs."

"I hope we find one quickly," Ron said. "If I mess up one more potion I think Snape'll throw me into a cauldron."

"Well then," Ernie said as the laughter died down. "Shall we get to history?"

Two evenings later, Maggie had everyone assemble in a hallway on the seventh floor. When Henry arrived, she was standing beside a small humanoid creature that Henry assumed was a house elf. It stood less then four feet high. It had long pointed ears, long thin pointed nose and large protruding blue eyes that shone with friendliness and intelligence. Spindly arms and legs poked out from underneath a thick forest green beach towel that the house elf had cut a hole in and wore as a poncho.

"Alright gang," Maggie said when the last of the group had finally arrived in the person of Susan Bones. "This is Gabby. I told her of our problem and she has a solution for us."

"Behind this wall is the _come and go_ room," the house elf said in a very squeaky voice. "It appears to anyone who has a great need for very specific type of room."

"So it will be a potions laboratory then?" Ron asked.

"It can be but I think we might be better served if we all thought of the perfect study room," Maggie replied. "And not limit ourselves to just one class."

"How do we make the room appear then?" Hermione asked.

"Walk past this wall three times concentrating on what you need," Gabby answered. "A doorway will then appear."

The students formed two rows and followed the house elf's instructions. They marched past the blank wall three times, each of them thinking about what would constitute an ideal study area. As they walked by the wall one final time, a small arched doorway materialized in the middle of it.

When they pushed the door open, they discovered a well-lit room dominated by a low, long wooden table surrounded by well-padded child sized chairs. The walls had large diagrams of plants and maps of the night sky. A shelf ran along one wall filled with scores of books with titles like _Basic Brewing, Charm Challenge for Kids, Magical Britain in the Seventeenth Century, _and _Common Herbs of Scotland._

In the back of the room, opposite of the doorway was a stone table that had five fire pits carved into it. Cauldrons were hanging over each pit. A well-stocked potion ingredients cabinet stood by the table.

The kids wandered in looking about in opened mouth astonishment. They dropped their bags down on the wooden table and slowly turned trying to take in the amazing room. They snatched books from the shelf and flipped through them. They rummaged through the cabinet exclaiming over what all was in there. Gabby began to laugh.

"I guess we must look rather foolish," Hermione sheepishly admitted.

"No, young miss, Gabby does not laugh at you," the house elf replied. "I laugh because the one item that I was sure that I would find in here is not here."

"What's that?" Ernie asked.

"Food!" Gabby snickered. "Children are always hungry yet not one of you thought of snacks. An oversight I will take care of immediately."

"Let's get started then," Hermione said briskly as the elf left. "I think that we should concentration on astronomy for a while then move to tomorrow's potion. Any objections?"

The _come and go_ room rapidly established itself as the hangout for the Hufflepuff and Gryffindor first formers. Chris, Hermione, and Ron persuaded the other first year Gryffindor students to join in with the study group. Their professors noted the improvement of all of them by it was Neville Longbottom got the most from the sessions. By relentlessly brewing potion after potion, he was able to gain enough confidence to where he remained calm in class even under the scorn and abuse heaped upon him by Professor Snape.

The magical room not only aided in the students study but also helped them to relax. A cabinet of board games appeared at the suggestion of Lavender Brown. Volumes of light fiction materialized on the books shelves when Chris grumbled about wanting something to read that had absolutely nothing to do with school.

The unexpected appearance of the headmaster one evening in early April gave them all a turn. They were afraid that he would ban them from the wonderful room.

"Why would I do that?" a laughing Professor Dumbledore asked when Hermione put that question to him. "What teacher would stop his students from studying?"

"We don't study all of the time," Hermione admitted quickly glancing about the room. Ron and Ernie were in the midst of a wizard's chess match as Justin and Henry were playing cribbage. Dean was standing beside an easel with charcoal pencils in his hand. A _Teen Witch_ magazine was lying on the table surrounded by several girls.

"No sane person does, Miss Granger," Professor Dumbledore replied. "Recreation is as important to the mind and body as learning and exercise. From what I gather from your lecturers, all of you are doing very well indeed in your studies. It seems to me that you are striking a proper balance in your lives."

"So, we can keep coming here?" Chris asked who was hiding a Piers Anthony _Xanth _novel behind his back.

"Of course, Mr. Gallatin," the headmaster said grabbing a banana from the fruit bowl on the table. His eyes fell on the opened _Teen Witch_, which had several photographs of the latest singing sensation, Trent Dove. "Whom do you think is cuter, Trent Dove or the seeker for Tutshill, Alec Bond?"

The debate he triggered raged for an hour.


	16. Chapter 16

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1

The Misplaced Potter

Chapter 16

_In which another fantastic creature appears_

The month of May had finally seen the end of the near constant snow and rain that had fallen upon Hogwarts castle since December. The sun shone brightly through the glass panels of greenhouse number one. The Hufflepuff and Gryffindor first formers were cleaning up their workstations in the conservatory with a lightness of spirit that had evaded most of them as the long, dreary months had dragged on endlessly.

A tall twiggy young woman wearing the paraphernalia of the Head Girl interrupted the end of class routine with her arrival. She strode between the tables with a poise that would have gladdened the heart of any ancient matron who thought that posture was the paramount social attribute. All eyes were on her as she stopped before Professor Sprout and bowed her head slightly.

"The headmaster's compliments, ma'am," she said with unselfconscious formality. "He would like to see you in his office at your earliest convenience."

The herbology teacher looked about the classroom. There was nothing remotely dangerous in that wing of the greenhouse. Only ordinary, garden-variety herbs grew in the many troughs that rested on the tiered shelves and the students were a trustworthy lot. She nodded to herself.

"Very well, then. Children, when you finish putting away the tools and sweeping you may leave. Just remember that your essays are due at the beginning of our next session," Professor Sprout said as she carefully removed her thick gloves. "Let us see what the headmaster wants, Felicity."

The students fell to their tasks with gusto as Professor Sprout and the Head Girl left. Laughing and chattering, they pushed brooms, cleaned tables, returned pots, and wiped trowels, dibbles, and scoops spick and span. Within a few minutes, Hermione and Ernie pronounced themselves satisfied with the cleanliness and organization of the greenhouse and said that everyone was free to go.

"Did I miss the meeting where they were elected king and queen?" Ron asked as he closed the tool cabinet.

"You don't elect kings," Chris intoned seriously. "They are born with their feet on our necks and remain our masters until we rebel and break free from the shackles of tyranny. Proletariat Arise!"

Ron looked from Chris to Maggie to Henry in utter bafflement.

"I have no clue," Maggie replied in answer to Ron's unspoken question.

"It's a muggle joke, of sorts," Henry said. "C'mon, Karl, let's go."

"Forward under the red banner," Chris said dramatically pointing toward the exit.

"You muggleborns are too weird by half," a chuckling Ron said as he joined the queue heading for the door.

"This from a bloke whose people invented candies that taste like sweat socks or mustard," Chris laughingly replied giving Ron a friendly swat on the shoulders.

The students poured out of the greenhouse and leisurely strolled toward the entrance to the castle. A slight breeze swirled over the lawns while mountain ringlet butterflies fluttered to bright yellow marsh marigolds or the white blossoms of turtleheads. Patches of dark green partridgeberry grew thick along the base of the castle wall but they had yet to flower. Wrens, buntings, and chaffinches flew from tree to tree as red-throated divers swan sedately across the surface of the lake.

Reluctantly, the kids walked up the stone steps entering the main castle. Students from the two houses stopped in the middle of the grand foyer on the ground floor saying their good byes to one another before each house headed for their separate dormitory.

"Does anyone smell smoke?" Susan Bones asked suddenly.

Chris followed his nose to an open window.

"Oh man," he exclaimed running to the main doorway. "Hagrid's hut is on fire."

Everyone quickly followed Chris out of the main door several of them shouting fire. Maggie rapidly caught up with Chris and passed him by. Fang, the groundskeeper's boarhound was frantically barking as he dashed back and forth in front of the burning cabin by the edge of the forest.

Maggie pushed opened the door as something crashed through the window nearest her. She threw herself to the ground as flames and flying glass shot at her. Chris landed beside her.

"It's a dinosaur," Justin yelled as a large scaly black reptile landed on the grass digging into the soft ground with thick claws. The beast had a body the size of a large dog but with a very long neck and tail. It had a large mouth filled with curved, wickedly sharp teeth. It unfolded huge bat like wings after it landed on the lawn but it did not fly away. It took a few hesitant steps and gazed malevolently around it.

"It's a dragon," Ron said. "Watch out! They are very fast and breathe fire. Everyone back away and keep an eye on it!"

"Hagrid's still inside. I'm sure he's hurt." Chris called out from the hut's open door. He and Maggie plunged inside closely followed by Fang.

"Can anyone do a freeze flame charm?" Hermione shouted.

"If you can't then none of us can," Henry replied slowly circling the winged beast. "Everyone go to the backdoor if there is one. Ron and I'll keep the dragon occupied."

"I thought we were friends," Ron grumbled but never the less fell in to Henry's scheme.

Ron and Henry danced in front of the dragon waving their arms and shouting drawing the reptile's attention to them and away from the kids circling to the back of the cabin.

"Do you know anything helpful about fighting dragons?" Henry asked.

"Yeah," Ron replied. "You find the nearest damned fool and let him fight it for you."

Hagrid was lying on the floor under the remnants of an end table when Chris and Maggie rushed into his burning cabin. Blood pumped from two long parallel cuts along the right side of his scalp as well as several large bleeding cuts across his torso. The nauseating smell of burnt flesh emanated from his burning trousers.

"There's a bucket," Maggie cried pointing toward the kitchen nook.

It took both her and Chris to left the massive, water filled pail that Hagrid had made from a small barrel to suit his oversized needs. They dumped the bucket's copious contents on the burning groundskeeper. The doused flames hissed in anger but disappeared. Hagrid groaned faintly.

"He's still alive," Maggie said as they threw the bucket aside.

Their classmates opened the rear door and rushed in.

"Somebody grab the dog," Chris ordered. "Everyone else grab what you can of Hagrid."

"No," Hermione countered. "We could hurt him worse. Everyone, wands out. _Wingardium Leviosa_ on the count of three. One, two, THREE!"

The combined efforts of all of the students lifted the huge man from the floor of the burning cabin. Sweat popped out on their foreheads from the intense heat and the exertion of concentration. Slowly, they maneuvered the levitated Hagrid across his hut and through the open door. Gently, they lowered him to the ground twenty-five feet from the fire consumed hut. The roof beams crashed into the flames as they broke their spells.

"Is everyone all right?" Ernie asked as he swatted at a small flame on his robes.

"I'm fine," Chris said but Maggie giggled. "What?"

"You left your eyebrows in there," Lavender answered handing him her compact.

Chris looked into the small mirror. His eyebrows were gone save for a few curled seared stumps as was the hair above the eyebrows.

"Small price," Chris said snapping the compact shut.

"Yeah," Hannah agreed looking at Hagrid.

"I'll go get Madame Pomfrey," Maggie said as she set off running.

"That was quick thinking, Hermione," Chris said. "I guess I have yet to think about using magic first."

"Perhaps but I'm not about to criticize anyone who ran into a burning building to save someone else," Hermione replied as she wiped soot from her face.

The dragon extended his neck and vomited fire. Henry and Ron dove in opposite directions as a stretch of grass between them burst into flame. Henry somersaulted and jumped to his feet just in time to spot the dragon charging him. He ducked under the beast's snapping jaws but a slashing claw opened up Henry's left thigh. Henry screamed in agony as he scrambled away the best he could. He then instinctively dove to his right and rolled.

The ploy worked partly due to Henry's maneuverability and partly due to Ron seizing the dragon's tail. When Henry got to his feet, he saw the dragon running in a circle and arching its neck trying to get at the annoyance that had grabbed it. Ron was running with the dragon struggling to keep away from its teeth and fire and keeping the beast's powerful tail from shoving him to the ground.

Henry snatched an oak log from Hagrid's woodpile and hobbled toward the twirling pair. Ron tripped over a stone and the dragon pounced. Ron screamed as the dragon clamped down on the arm that he had thrown up to protect himself. The beast released the gnawed arm. It arched its neck for a killing strike as Ron tried to scuttle away.

The dragon intent on Ron never noticed Henry planting his feet and swinging the log overhand. Skull and adrenaline driven wood collided with arm numbing force. The insensible dragon fell to the ground and did not move.

Ron pulled himself into a sitting position as Henry stumbled over to him and dropped to the ground. Ron tenderly wrapped the folds of his robes around his bleeding arm.

"I owe you one," he said to Henry after a few moments.

"I owed you first," Henry replied as herolled over on to his back. "Trolls, dragons, three-headed dogs and I'm not even done with my first year yet. What's with this friggin'school?"

The boys could feel the heat from the now completely engulfed cabin even at the distance that they were from it. With a tremendous crash, the roof beams collapsed sending embers shooting skyward. The crackle of the flames was loud but they could hear the voices of their classmates behind the cabin.

"No shouts or crying," Henry said watching the blood seep through the fingers he held over his wounded thigh. "I guess everyone's okay."

"Looks like half the school's running this way," Ron said glancing over his shoulder.

Maggie came scooting around the burning house. She skidded to a halt when she spied the mob approaching her. It was only then that she saw the unconscious dragon and the two bleeding boys.

"How badly are you hurt?" she asked fearfully as she knelt beside them.

"If you or Ron wasn't here," Henry answered through gritted teeth. "I'd be crying my eyes out."

"Damn, mate," Ron said. "If I had known that we could've gone on a crying jag together. I have never hurt this bad before."

"If you can joke," Maggie said leaping to her feet. "You'll live. Madam Pomfrey, come quickly! Hagrid is hurt very badly."

Maggie led a sprinting Madam Pomfrey to the rear of the cabin as faculty members and some older students using their wands extinguished the cabin flames. The fire quickly died and the charms even cooled the charred remains to the point that there was no smoke save that which was rapidly rising on the breeze.

Barbara Thane, the blonde healer to be, knelt down beside the injured boys.

"Hello, Henry," she said as she opened her bag. "Who's your friend?"

"Ron Weasley," Henry answered. "Gryffindor first year. This is Barbara Thane. She always comes to my rescue when I'm hurt."

"Ron, I must tell you that hanging around with Henry will only get you into trouble."

"I found that out," Ron replied trying to keep his voice steady. "The git volunteered me to fight the dragon."

"And you were mad enough to do it," George said as he Fred and Percy moved to his side.

"Is he going to be all right?" Fred asked calmly but his concern for his brother was evident in every syllable.

"He'll live," Barbara answered as she delicately examined the wounds of both boys. "But he needs to develop a healthy streak of self-preservation."

"We did what we had to," Ron said in his defense.

"All's well that ends well," Percy quoted with a shake of his head. "Mum is going to have kittens though. I hope that she hasn't look at her clock lately. She'll be on her way here already if she spotted your clock hand pointing to mortal danger."

Ron nodded. He did not want to worry his mother but he was also still young enough that having his mum beside him when he was in so much pain appealed to him also.

"You know, Henry, if you have a crush on me and you pull these stunts only to get my attention, I must tell you that roses work just as well," she said

"Now she tells me," Henry joked then hissed as Barbara probed his wound.

"From the looks of that wound you wouldn't have to worry about any crushes if that dragon claw had been just a little bit higher," Fred teased

Barbara hummed to herself as she pushed the robe from Ron's shoulders and then cut the sleeve off his shirt, exposing the wound. She cast a charm that stemmed the bleeding. After dousing the wound with a disinfectant and some painkiller, she quickly but skillfully wrapped the rapidly swelling forearm in a bandage.

"That'll hold you until we get you to hospital and get some antivenin in you," she said cheerfully.

She fell back to humming as she tended Henry.

"What's that tune?" George asked curiously, as his eyes darted between Henry's wound and the eighteen-year old woman's breasts.

"_Suicide is Painless,_" Barbara absently replied.

The badly burnt and mangled body of Hagrid came floating by. Professors Snape and Sinistra were keeping the body levitated and they all were following Madam Pomfrey at a brisk trot. The wall of students who had gathered at the edge of Hagrid's curtilage melted aside as the school's healer approached. Many of the bystanders gasped at the sight of the groundskeeper.

Professor Dumbledore, his face a mask of sorrow and worry, slowly walked over to where Professor Kettleburn was examining the dragon.

"A Norwegian Ridgeback, Headmaster," the Care of Magical Creatures professor said as Albus Dumbledore stopped beside him. "Three or four weeks old I would say. I am guessing that Hagrid has been trying to raise it."

Professor Dumbledore rubbed the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger just above his spectacles. He was worried about his friend and hopping mad at him at the same time. Dumbledore had known Hagrid for most of the half giant's life and knew that the groundskeeper's fascination with magical creatures, especially the more dangerous species, had only grown as the decades past. Hagrid also well knew that dragon ownership was illegal in Britain.

"Officially, we do not know that," the headmaster said quietly.

Professor Kettleburn nodded his understanding. "No, we don't know that for certain, do we?"

"Thank you," Professor Dumbledore replied gratefully in acknowledgement of his colleague's unspoken acceptance of his part in the imminent cover up. "Do what you must to restrain the creature. We'll then see what to do about it."

Albus looked across the dragon to the pack of children that Professors McGonagall and Sprout were leading away from the charred remains of the cabin. They did not look large enough to have pulled the massive man from the burning house but together they had managed. Thankfully, none of them was the worse for the experience saving for some small burns and scraps. Some had singed hair and robes with burn holes in them. The group stopped beside Henry and Ron.

Ron Weasley and Harry Potter, however, did not come out unscathed. Fortunately, neither boy was killed nor was either of their injuries particularly bad even if their blood splattered clothes and bodies were not sights for the faint at heart. Dumbledore bowed his head in gratitude that neither boy's foolhardy courage had cost them their lives. Arthur and Molly were among Dumbledore's closest friends. He trembled at the thought of how near he had came to having to tell them that the boy that Dumbledore had held in his own arms when the child was scarcely a day old had been killed on the grounds of what was suppose to be the safest place on earth.

As for Harry, the boy was the hope of magical Britain even if he did not know it. Dumbledore had promised Sirius that he would do all within his power to protect Harry yet the boy had faced life-threatening situations twice in seven months.

"Granted," Dumbledore thought as he walked over to Harry, Ron, and the other children who had rescued Hagrid. "They were situations that Harry had walked into on his own volition but they were never the less breaches of my promise to Sirius."

"Are you going to be able to patch them up enough for detention tonight, Miss Thane?" Professor McGonagall asked with a stone face. She held her composure for several moments before laughing at the stunned expressions of the students around her.

"You do have your wicked moments, don't you, Minerva?" Professor Sprout laughed in relief. She was having difficulties stopping the frightened tremors that ran through her body. Like Professor Dumbledore, she was upset on how close her charges had come to serious injury. She was also tremendously proud of them at the same time. She had heard time and time again that modern kids did not measure up to previous generations. She would stand these children up along side of any Hogwarts class before them.

"They'll both be fine, Professor McGonagall," Barbara answered as she stood. "We need to get some antivenin into Ron here and we'll keep both in hospital overnight but I can see no reason that they would not be out and about tomorrow. Does anyone else need immediate attention?"

"Some minor burns, here and there," Professor McGonagall replied.

Barbara nodded. "All walking wounded follow me to the hospital. I would like someone to carry or levitate Henry. I don't want him to put any stress on that leg of his until I can get it fully healed.

"We'll do it," George Weasley said. Fred lifted Henry under the arms as George rolled the oak log that Henry had used to knock out the dragon under Henry's upraised backside. Henry put his arms across the brothers' shoulders as they knelt on either side of him. They lifted him off the ground using the log like a sedan chair.

"Before anyone leaves, I wish to express my admiration for the courage each of you has shown here," Professor Dumbledore said. "None of us would have been able to reach Hagrid in time. What you did was very dangerous and I am very thankful that none of you were injured more severely but I am not going to chastise any of you for the risks that you took."

"What your parents might say is beyond my control," he added with a chuckle.

"One mother has not made up her mind yet," Professor McGonagall said hugging Maggie close to her.


	17. Chapter 17

Disclaimer: See chapter 1

The Misplaced Potter

Chapter 17

_In which the forbidden corridor is revisited_

The deep gong of the school bell sounded signaling the end of the class period. A cheer erupted from the Hufflepuff first formers. Their last examination of their first year was finished. They were to a student confident that they had done well on all of the tests including the defense against the dark arts final that they just completed. With barely contained eagerness, they filed past Professor Quirrell's desk dropping the test scrolls into a pile before him.

"Mister P-P-Porter," the professor stuttered. "May I impose upon you to help me for a few minutes?"

"Sure, sir" Henry answered with a shrug.

"I'll take your backpack to the dorm for you," Maggie said.

The room swiftly emptied. A bright sunny day beckoned as did several days without any classes and a party or two before the Hogwarts Express would carry them home for the summer holidays. The teacher wheeled a flat cart in front of the desk and Henry began to stack the scrolls neatly on it. Henry followed the professor out of the room pushing the trolley.

"How well do you think you did on my examination?" Professor Quirrell asked conversationally as they made their way down the hall.

"At the risk of jinxing it, I think I did very good," Henry answered. "We studied awfully hard for it."

Professor Quirrell laughed. "I-I-I can remember my school days. The Hufflepuffs were always diligently studying. We R-Ravenclaws thought it was comical and admirable at the same time. Of course, we usually had our nose in a book, too."

Henry and the professor entered Quirrell's office. They transferred the test scrolls to the professor's rather cluttered desk. Unstable stacks of thick books with strips of parchment sticking out from the pages hid most of the surface. Something swam in a large jar with dark green water. Several sticks of incense burned in a vase sending tendrils of musky smoke into the close, unmoving air of the office.

"One m-m-more task for you," a smiling Professor Quirrell said as he picked up a small Irish harp. "And then you will be free. Follow me, please."

A sharp pain had suddenly detonated in Henry's forehead. He closed his eyes and rubbed his furrowed brow. He stumbled after the departing teacher who seemed not to have noticed Henry's discomfort.

Through half cracked eyes, Henry dogged his professor's steps. Slowly, the near blinding pain subsided. He took a deep breath and sighed with pleasant relief. It was only then that he took in his surroundings.

"Sir," Henry hesitatively began. "Isn't this the out-of-bounds corridor?"

"It is forbidden for students to be here alone," Quirrell answered straightforwardly. "But you are with a teacher, aren't you?"

"Yeah but there's a giant dog down here, you know," Henry blurted out without thinking.

Professor Quirrell chortled. "So you were the one that sent Severus flying headfirst into that armor, eh? He and Filch wanted to give veriserum to the entire student body to find the culprit. Well then, I salute you. To be able to watch Snape ranting in the staff room with that bump on his head positively made my holidays."

Chagrinned that he had inadvertently given away his secret, Henry kept silent. Professor Quirrell might have ferreted out that it was Henry flying down the corridor on that December night but to confess to the deed did not seem wise. Being made privy to animosities among his professors did not set well with Henry either.

Wishing that he had stayed awake during the start of school feast so that he would have heard Professor Dumbledore's exact words about the third floor corridor instead of getting it second hand the next day from his prefects, Henry kept following Professor Quirrell.

The DADA teacher stopped before the wooden door.

_"_The _Alohomora _charm?" Henry asked tentatively as Professor Quirrell pulled his wand from his robe.

"Not yet," Professor Quirrell answered looking past Henry back down the hallway from which they had just come. "_Petrificus Totalus!"_

A wave of fear and surprise flooded Henry's mind as he felt every muscle and joint in his body lock into instant immobility. He would have fallen straight back if Professor Quirrell had not caught the front of his robe and eased him to the floor.

"I can't afford having you crush your skull again," he said with a snort. He rummaged through Henry's robe and extracted his wand.

"You don't have enough skill to challenge me but you could prove inconvenient at an inopportune time." He told Henry as he slid the boy's wand into his own pocket.

Henry heard Quirrell moving but he was out of his line of sight. Henry strained, willing his eyes to rotate as far down as they could. The irises traveled below his eyelids. After a moment of darkness followed by an opaque red, Henry could see the professor in front of the door.

"I'm looking through my skull," Henry thought in wonder, his fear temporarily forgotten. "Why didn't the healers tell me I could do that?"

"_Alohomora,"_ Quirrell said.

Henry heard the heavy latch unbolt. Low, menacing growls immediately emanated from behind the partially opened door.

"_Fingirus,"_ Quirrell commanded pointing his wand at the harp that he had sat on the floor. The harp instantly began to play as if an invisible musician was plucking its strings. Henry recognized the tune as Turlough O'Carolan's _Dark Plaintive Youth, _a favorite song of his father. He wondered if Professor Quirrell had picked that song at random or if he had a twisted sense of humor and thought it appropriate for Henry.

Quirrell cautiously pushed the door fully open. Henry saw the giant dog stretched out on the stone floor. Each of its three heads lying on the ground with eyes closed.

"The great drunken oaf told the truth," Professor Quirrell snickered. He moved the still playing harp inside the chamber. With a flick of his wand, he raised Henry off the floor. Henry's eyes rolled further around their sockets so the professor remained in view. He shut his eyelids so Quirrell would not notice his eyes were and guess that Henry could see him at all times. Henry did not know if it would help him, but he thought it was something worth keeping from his teacher.

Professor Quirrell slammed the door shut as soon as he had Henry inside the chamber. He quickly scampered to the trapdoor and threw it open.

"The secret to escaping Devil's Snare is to stay as relaxed as possible," Professor Quirrell said staring down the shaft. "It would be interesting to see what it would do to a body in your condition. Fortunately, for you, I need you alive. Scientific curiosity will have to wait for another day."

Another flick of the professor's wand sent Henry floating down the shaft, feet first. He was surprised to see the professor jump down the shaft after him. He plummeted to the patch of vines and, like Henry had done in December, rolled off the plant immediately upon impact. Henry, however, slowly turned and glided just above the deadly plant.

"This way, if you please," Professor Quirrell said humorously guiding his student down the short corridor. He casually directed Henry's body to the table that the broomsticks had rested against on Henry's previous visit. Dozens of birds burst off the floor. Noisily they went fluttering and darting high into the air of the room.

"Flitwick's contribution to this enterprise," Quirrell sneered. "Rather childish and hardly challenging."

The professor scanned above him as if he were seeking one particular bird among the flock.

"They're not birds," Henry thought to himself as he shifted his focus from Quirrell. "They're _keys?_ Keys with wings?"

Henry took in the rest of the room. The clutter that was there in December was gone. All that he could see was the table upon which he lay and four broomsticks resting in precise order along side the doorway. The room was spotless. Even the cobwebs were gone.

"What is this all about?" Henry asked himself. His initial fear that Quirrell had designs on his body seem to be disproved by the turban wearing teacher's actions but if this was not about violation then what was going on?

A pale violet light leaped from Quirrell's wand suddenly. An old fashion looking silver key dropped from the air. With a clang, it fell at the Professor's feet.

"It was Flitwick's brilliant idea that anyone who wanted to get the key to the door would have to fly around on a broom trying to snatch it out of the air like some quidditch seeker," Quirrell dismissively explained as he retrieved the key from the floor. "He thought that it would be near impossible for anyone to do so with hundreds of different keys flitting about."

The silver key unlocked the door without any difficulty. Quirrell casually tossed it aside and levitated Henry once again. Henry floated through the door as the keys returned to their nest underneath the table.

The room that they entered was a large dimly lit chamber. Unlike the previous room, its ceiling was typical for a single story. Four rows of large statutes dominated the room. Two lines each faced one another as if they were awaiting combat.

"It's a giant chess board, you moron," Henry thought to himself when he realized what he was seeing.

"It's a huge chess set," Quirrell said smugly. "This is McGonagall's contribution to the defense. What do you know about chess?"

"Nil" Henry thought to himself. "Except that they aren't called horses."

"Oh, sorry, I forgot about the spell," Quirrell giggled when Henry did not answer him. "Anyway, a wizard and avid chess master named Claudio Tessitore devised the Tessitore Defense during the sixteenth century. If followed, it guaranteed no worse then a draw against the very best of players. In 1958, Albrecht Schuster finally found the strategy necessary to defeat the Tessitore Defense."

"Why am I boring you worse then Binns with this arcane history lesson, you may ask. Simply put, McGonagall designed this chess set to play the Tessitore Defense and I happen to know Schuster's Strategy."

"King and queen depart," Quirrell shouted.

The black king and queen became animated. They turned and walked off the black and white tiles. They took up positions along the wall as if to watch the match.

"An oddity of the Schuster Strategy is that the king never moves," Quirrell said as he guided Henry to the vacated square of the black king. "Helpful in your present condition, eh?'

Henry wanted to glare at him but his facial muscles would not respond. Henry watched as Quirrell confidently moved and ordered other pieces about. Wizard's chess differed from ordinary chess in that the taking of pieces was rather violent. The attacking piece would beat the captured piece then drag it from the playing surface.

"At least, as a king, I'm in no danger," Henry thought dredging up one of the few things about chess he knew.

Quirrell was in danger but the steadiness with which he made his moves indicated that he knew what he was doing. In a surprisingly short time, the checkmated white king was throwing his crown at Quirrell's feet.

"Come along," Quirrell said nonchalantly as he walked past the white king to a door beyond him. Henry rose from the floor. He remained upright, his trainers drifting just inches above the floor.

"Behind this door is my contribution to the defense," a smiling Professor Quirrell said as Henry landed beside him.

"The defense of what," Henry wondered but when Quirrell opened the door, that question was chased from his mind. Petrified or not, Henry drew in a sharp breath. A mountain troll, almost identical to the one that had nearly killed him last Halloween, came charging at them.

Quirrell cavalierly raised his wand. "_Imperio,_" he said.

Henry watched in amazement as the troll stopped and dropped its club. There was a vacant look in the troll's eyes. Quirrell grunted a few syllables in what Henry assumed were in the troll language. The troll turned and walked to the wall. Once there, it unhesitatingly drove its head into the solid stone with all of its strength. It toppled over into a heap.

"I always had a way with trolls," Quirrell said. He did not spare even the shortest of glances at the troll as he stepped around the unconscious creature. "Come along."

Henry glided close after Quirrell as he strode into the next room. As soon as they had crossed the threshold, a wall of purple flames appeared before the door, which they just entered, as a wall of black flames shot up before the opposite door. A table with seven different bottles and a sheet of parchment occupied the center of the small room. The professor, however, ignored the table and bottles.

"Snape's," Quirrell said simply but coldly. "Rather clever, to give the devil his due. There's a riddle written there that will tell the reader which bottle will allow him to past through the flames safely. So many people get very flustered when faced with a logic puzzle. They could panic and either trap themselves in here or manage to drink the poison even if the riddle is simple enough to decipher. There is, however, only enough solution to allow one person to pass through into the next room. Obliviously I would not have brought all of this way just to leave either of us mere feet short of our objective."

Quirrell pulled a bottle from his robes as he flicked his wand at Henry. Henry, released from both the levitating spell and the binding spell, fell to the floor. His muscles ached as if he had been lifting hay bales all day. Cautiously, he stood and faced the professor.

Quirrell took a long swig from the bottle.

"Drink this," Quirrell said thrusting the bottle at Henry as he regained his feet. "It will allow you to past through the black flames into the next room and before you get any ideas, it will not protect you from the purple flames at the other door."

Henry eyed the bottle suspiciously.

"Drink it," Quirrell commanded again.

"No," Henry shouted. He rushed to the other side of the room putting the table between him and the professor. Quirrell did not chase him though. He merely smiled.

"If that is your answer," Quirrell said. "Then there is only one thing to say. _CRUCIO_!"

Every nerve ending in Henry's body overloaded as a tidal wave of excruciating pain crashed through them. All conscious thought vanished from his mind as Henry fell to the floor and began to thrash about. His bladder and bowels emptied as a long, agonized wail tore from his throat. An eternity later, Quirrell broke the spell.

The professor sat the bottle on the floor beside Henry as he lay in the fetal position whimpering. Tremors run through the boy's body like the aftershocks of an earthquake as a river of tears formed a puddle on the cold hard stone floor.

"That was all of ten seconds if you are curious," Quirrell said calmly. "Now drink that potion and let us go through the flames."

Henry drew the bottle to his chest like a talisman. Using the table for balance, he shakily pulled himself to his feet. He ran a sleeve across his tear-streaked face. He could not stop his hand from trembling as he unstopped the bottle and hastily drank the potion.

It felt as if his blood had instantly turned to ice.

Without looking at Quirrell, Henry threw himself into the flames. He nearly collided with the door. He quickly opened it and tumbled through.

Henry found himself in a large nearly empty room. Four torches, two each on opposite walls, lit the room, which had, at its center, a full-length freestanding looking glass. He was trying to figure out where the challenge was when Quirrell stepped into the room.

"Wait over there," he told Henry pointing to the wall on his right. Henry, ashamed of his cowardice, quickly obeyed. The stench of his fouled clothes assailing his nose fostered further humiliation.

"The Mirror of Erised," Quirrell said tenderly running a hand around the mirror's dark wooden frame. "It shows the heart's most fervent desire. I can see myself handing the philosopher's stone to my master. Where is the stone? This is Dumbledore's trial so it is the pivotal clue as to its location."

"Use the boy," a chilly, croaking, disembodied voice said. "The boy is the key."

"Of course, Master," Quirrell replied submissively. "You. Come here."

Unsure of where the voice came from, Henry timidly walked over to the professor. He stopped before the huge mirror.

"Tell me what you see in the mirror," Quirrell commanded. "How do I get the philosopher's stone?"

"What's the philosopher's stone?" asked Henry.

"Just look in the damn mirror," Quirrell roared.

Henry gazed into the depths of the looking glass. Instead of his reflection, he saw himself wrapped in a protective hug sandwiched between his parents. He was far from Hogwarts back at his old home in Kentucky.

"What do you see?" Quirrell asked stringently.

"I see my parents," Henry stammered. "They are hugging me, protecting me."

"Remove your turban," the voice said. "I wish to see the boy."

"Are you certain, Master?" Quirrell asked.

"Do it!" the cold voice barked.

Quirrell began to unwind his turban. As the ribbon of cloth fell away, Henry noticed that his teacher's head was oddly misshapen. When he was done, Quirrell slowly turned around. Henry gasped for on the back of Quirrell's skull was an evil looking face with glowing red eyes and a malicious smile.

"I am Lord Voldemort, boy,"The face chuckled evilly. "I killed your parents years ago. They can do nothing for you from beyond the grave."

"My parents are alive," Henry shouted. "I got an owl from them just yesterday."

The sharp pain once again detonated in Henry's brow. He dropped to his knees. It felt as if spiders were dancing across his brain.

"Who are you?" the cold voice asked.

"Henry," Henry replied in a labored voice. "Henry Porter."

The pain suddenly ceased. Henry put his hands on the floor and struggled for breath.

Voldemort chuckled mirthlessly. "You believe that to be the truth. Oh, Dumbledore, how like you to make matters more complicated then they need to be. I was certain that you would have woven Potter into the defense of the stone yet you keep your most important weapon ignorant rendering him practically useless to you."

"What do we do now, Master?" Quirrell asked.

"The mirror is the key to the stone it appears and not the boy," Voldemort said. "Kill the boy. We'll take the mirror elsewhere."

"Yes, my lord," Quirrell answered.

Henry looked frantically for an escape there was none save the door, which he had entered, and Quirrell was between him and it. In absolute desperation, Henry leaped upon the DADA teacher as he turned. Henry grabbed Quirrell's wand hand and wrapped his right arm around the professor's head, his hand on Quirrell's face, his legs tightly clamped around his waist.

"Get off you little bastard," Quirrell snapped trying to break Henry's grip. Quirrell suddenly screamed. His hand and face below Henry's hands turned bright red then huge blisters formed like fast growing mushrooms after a rain.

"Master," Quirrell wailed in panic and fear.

Now the professor was frantic. Unfortunately, for Quirrell, even though he was a grown man struggling against an older child, he was weak having shunned any strenuous exercise for years. Henry was strong for his age and adrenaline was flooding his body. Smoke rose from Quirrell's face and hand. Blood poured through Henry's fingers as Quirrell's tissue then bone sizzled beneath the boy's hands.

With a massive effort, Quirrell heaved Henry from him. Henry landed awkwardly on one foot. He heard his ankle snap as he fell backward landing before the mirror. Henry anxiously tried to regain his feet but he toppled back to the floor in pain.

Quirrell took a halting step toward Henry but then fell to his knees. Terror filled eyes stared at Henry from a tburning, disfigured face. With a last moan of pure fear, the professor literally turned to dust before a stunned Henry's eyes.

Red smoke rose from the crumpled robe and drifted toward the ceiling. The smoke slowly coalesced. Voldemort's face, lately of his follower's skull, appeared in the midst of the crimson cloud. Henry stared helplessly up at it.

"You have courage," Voldemort said with a hint of respect in his gravelly voice. "A trait I have always prized. Follow me, young Potter. I can free you from the pretence in whichDumbledore has bound you. I can free you from your muggle upbringing and give you more power then you ever dreamed."

Henry leaned back against the mirror. He was bone weary and ached from his head to his broken ankle. He looked up at the phantom resignedly.

"What is your answer, Potter?" Voldemort demanded.

"My name is Porter," Henry said slowly. "And my answer is fuck you."

With a furious howl, Voldemort dove at Henry like a lightning bolt. Henry twisted his upper body away. The mirror exploded when Voldemort collided with it. Henry's already abused body was flung like rag doll across the room. Mercifully, he fainted before any more pain registered.


	18. Chapter 18

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1

The Misplaced Potter

Chapter 18

_In which Henry discovers many things_

Barbara Thane heard a slight groan from Henry. She and Madam Pomfrey quickly slid over to his bedside. After what he had been through it would be best if he saw something familiar and reassuring as soon as he was awake. Barbara perched herself on the side of his bed and took his hand in hers.

Henry's eyes fluttered then opened when he felt the warm, gentle touch on his hand. Barbara's smiling face beamed down on him as he became alert. Fear shot through him nonetheless.

"Easy, easy," Madam Pomfrey said soothingly placing a restraining hand on his chest. "You're safe. You're in the hospital wing. No one can hurt you here."

Warily, Henry eased back to his pillow.

"I'm not dead?" he asked.

"Don't sound so disappointed about that," Barbara replied lightly but was aghast that Henry seemed surprised that he was alive.

"Why?" Henry asked in confusion. "Why did they try to kill me?"

"Ah, dear heart, I wish I knew," Barbara answered.

"I never suspected Professor Quirrell was capable of such a thing." Madam Pomfrey added.

"It was him and Voldemort," Henry said.

"Voldemort!" the shocked women cried out in unison.

"His…his spirit anyway, I guess," Henry clarified. "He was living in Professor Quirrell's head. The turban hid him."

Barbara softly stroked Henry's forehead as she struggled to absorb what he had said. He had been through a traumatic experience but she felt certain that he was not delusional.

"Henry," she began carefully. "Are you absolutely sure that it was Lord Voldemort?"

Henry shrugged slightly. "That's what he called himself but I never seen a picture of him. Anyway, he was nothing but he was a red-eyed phantom. He sorta floated out of Professor Quirrell's body after I killed him."

"You killed Professor Quirrell?" Madam Pomfrey asked in surprise.

"I don't know how," Henry said huskily. "I didn't mean too. He was about to kill me but I jumped on him. When I grabbed him and he just burnt up."

Remorse overwhelmed Henry. He quickly turned his head as tears flooded his eyes. Barbara pulled him into a motherly hug as Henry began to sob uncontrollably.

Barbara rocked him gently allowing Henry to cry as much as he wanted. She silently prayed that the tears would wash away his pain but feared that it would be long time before Henry recovered fully. He had his trust vilely betrayed and his life nearly ended. Furthermore, he had blood on his hands. That the professor's death was unintentional did not seem to matter to the horror-stricken young boy. Barbara knew that the world would always be a little darker for Henry from now on. She vowed to do all that she could to ensure that he never lost sight of the light that was also present.

Eventually, Henry's crying subsided. He felt drained as if the tears had taken all of his energy with them. Barbara levitated a couple of pillows over to Henry's bed and eased the boy back on them.

Silently she handed him a box of tissues. She washed his face after he blew his nose.

"We have some orange juice here," she said handing him a mug with a straw in it.

"Can I eat?" Henry asked between sips of juice. "I'm kinda hungry,"

"I'm not surprised, laddie," Madam Pomfrey said. "You've been asleep for three nights now."

"Three nights. Really?" Henry asked in amazement.

"Sleep is the beginning of health," the healer quoted as she examined her young patient. Like Barbara, she feared far more for his mental recovery then his physical one. Indeed, the only reason to keep him in the hospital ward was to keep him from the barrage of questions that he may not be ready to answer or even face. The crying, while undoubtedly will be embarrassing to the boy when he thinks about it, was a good sign.

"Barbara, will you have a meal brought to our patient, please?" Madam Pomfrey asked. "Something light but with plenty of protein."

"I'll see to it ma'am," she replied.

"Or you may go to the great hall and eat if you feel up to it after the headmaster speaks with you," the healer added.

"I'll think about it, ma'am," Henry said, unsure if he was prepared to face a castle full of people yet.

"I won't push you out of the door," she said with a smile.

Madam Pomfrey looked over at Barbara. The teenager nodded in acceptance of the healer's silent request that she stay with Henry. Someone needed to be around so that he could talk about the events in the secret chamber instead of dwelling on them within his own mind.

"Now what?" Henry asked when Madam Pomfrey exited the ward.

"Now what what?" Barbara returned.

"Am I going to jail?" Henry asked apprehensively. "I didn't mean to kill Professor Quirrell but I don't know how to prove it."

Barbara chuckled. "No, you won't go to prison. Professor Dumbledore can draw your memory of the events from your mind. He'll be able to see what happened in a pensive."

"A pensive?"

Barbara had to explain to Henry how a pensive worked. He had not heard of the device. He was surprised to discover that others could view memories.

"So I give my memories instead of my word," Henry puzzled out.

"Yes, if you are willing to allow it but the sooner the spell is done, the better," Barbara said. "We have a powerful ability to alter memories as time passes."

"I'm more then willing," the boy replied. "I don't understand much of what happened. I mean, why me of all people? Maybe someone looking at what happened can explain it all to me."

"I suppose that you were simply the most convenient student to snatch," Barbara replied.

"I don't think so. Voldemort thought I was someone else," Henry said. "He called me Potter and claimed to have killed my parents years ago. He was living inside Quirrell's head but I guess he didn't pay attention to what the professor knew. Heck, the professor knew who I was."

Barbara gazed at her patient speculatively. The fact that Henry was adopted she knew. Maggie, who felt a kinship with Henry because of that among other things, had mentioned it to her. Conjecture as to the location of the_ Boy who Lived_ was rampant in magical Britain especially after he failed to arrive at Hogwarts this school year. Rumors had the boy dead, at Beauxbatons, living with some muggle relatives, in the care of the Ministry for Magic, and dozens of other possibilities. _The Quibbler_ would run a new story every issue.

"What better place to hide a tree then in a forest," Barbara thought. "Henry, I believe Quirrell and Voldemort knew precisely who they had captured. It's you who doesn't know who you are."

"Who found me?" Henry asked, snapping Barbara out her reverie. "I would have thought that I would have gone missing for days down there."

"Professors McGonagall and Snape did," Barbara answered. "Maggie grew curious then worried when you failed to show up in the dorm and were still gone at supper. She went to her mum and when they couldn't find Professor Quirrell either, the staff launched a full-scale search. They must have had some suspicions because Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape headed for the third floor corridor immediately."

"I guess I own Maggie then," Henry said. "Er, can I get out of bed?"

"Sure," Barbara replied. "Do you wish to sit by the window?"

"I'd like to take a shower and use the lavatory," a blushing Henry said. "I can tell someone cleaned me up but I sorta still feel dirty."

"People often lose control of their bowels in an accident, Henry. It is nothing to be ashamed of," Barbara said guessing the source of his discomfort as she helped him out of bed. "From the looks of the room, that explosion tossed you a fair distance."

"I crapped my pants before that," Henry reluctantly admitted. He was wobbly on his feet but the broken ankle had healed properly. "I was trying to get away from Professor Quirrell but he stopped me with a spell."

A frowning Barbara asked, "What was this spell?"

Henry paused. His mind recoiled from the memory but he forced himself to think about it.

"_Crucio_," he finally said.

Barbara was shocked to the core of her soul. She held Henry firmly by both arms and peered intently into his face. "Are you telling me that Quirrell used the _Cruciatus Curse _on you, Henry?"

"I dunno," Henry replied bewildered by his friend's reaction. "I never heard of that one before."

Barbara pulled him into a powerful hug.

"No one should ever hear of it. It is one of the 'unforgivable curses.' The penalty for the use of one against another carries an automatic life sentence in Azkaban," Barbara explained with a savage edge to her voice. "By the moon and stars, Henry, if Quirrell wasn't already dead, I'd kill him myself for using that on you."

Henry was oddly reassured but also a little frightened at the vehemence of Barbara's reply. It made him even more aware of how evil were the hands that he had fallen into and highlighted how sheltered he now was. He felt truly safe for the first time since he awoke.

Barbara released him finally.

"The shower is behind that door there," she said pointing across the room. "Can you make it on your own?"

"I think so," Henry answered feeling the awkwardness leave his muscles as he took a few tentative steps.

"Very well then," she replied. "I'll send for Professor Dumbledore and see that you have some clothes up here when you're done."

Twenty minutes later, Henry was still luxuriating under a near scalding hot shower when a knock on the door brought his happily blank mind back to earth.

"Oy, cuz," Christopher said, entering the room. "I have some clothes for you."

Henry shut the water off and stepped out of the shower.

Christopher laughed closing the door behind him. "You're not a bashful one, are you? If I knew that you were going to leap out like that I'd brought in Hermione and Maggie."

"You probably tried, knowing you," Henry said as he toweled himself dry. "But being well mannered, well brought up girls they refused."

"Right on both counts," Chris replied lightly but then sobered up. "I'm glad you made it through alright, Henry. I'm still surprised that Quirrell was the one that tried to kill you. He always seemed afraid of his own shadow."

"The one who tried to kill me? What, do you think that I'm on the hit list of several teachers?" Henry tried to joke pulling on his clothes.

"No," Chris replied. "All the teachers seem to like you. Even Snape, from what you say, and he doesn't like anybody."

"Quirrell being a nervous Nellie was all just an act. He didn't even truly stutter," Henry continued. "Anyway, how did you hear about it? I would have figured that the headmaster would keep the whole thing a secret."

"Ghosts are everywhere in this castle, cuz, and they hear and see just about everything," Chris answered. "And they gossip more than any ten fishwives. Well, what else do they have to do, really? Probably everyone in the school knew what happened before they had you halfway to hospital."

"Probably not everything," Henry said remembering Barbara's shocked reactions to both Voldemort and the cruciatus curse.

"Not everything," Chris said slowly. "He didn't…uh…"

"No, Quirrell tried to kill me but he didn't do anything else," Henry reassured his cousin.

"That's good," Chris said in relief then paused. "That's sounds rather silly, doesn't it? You were nearly killed but not raped so that's good."

"I knew what you meant," Henry said.

Chris picked up where he left off. "If the headmaster could have kept it under wraps, I'm sure that he wishes that he had by now. This place has been crawling with Ministry officials, hysterical parents, and reporters all demanding answers from him. The rumor is that he's gotten more then a hundred howlers."

"Mom and Dad aren't worried, I hope," Henry anxiously said pushing his feet into his new boots.

"No, not much," Chris replied. "After Aunt Danielle saw what the healers were capable of last year when you were hurt, she trusts them completely. I am positive that the headmaster told her that you merely broke your ankle and left out any of the other details. I didn't say anything and it's not like our parents read the _Daily Prophet _after all."

Henry nodded. "It'll be great to see them again and to see that farm they bought with the money that Mr. Franklin left Dad in his will."

Chris laughed as he opened the door for Henry. "I don't know why you're here when all you are going to do is raise horses for the rest of your life anyhow."

"That is a good question," Henry acknowledged in absolute seriousness.

As she had done at St. Mungo's, Maggie ran across the room and pulled Henry into an ardent hug. She tried to speak but could only cry. Henry hugged her back with one arm and tenderly stroked her hair with his other hand.

"It's all right," he told her. "I'm okay. Thanks for raising the alarm for me."

Hermione leaned over and kissed him lightly on the cheek.

"Thank goodness, you're fine." She said. "Physically, at any rate."

The kiss surprised Henry. It was an incredible display of heartfelt emotion by the very undemonstrative Hermione but her words intrigued him. Did they expect him to be quivering in a corner?

"Of course, they expect you to be a nut case," he mockingly thought to himself. "Admit it, Henry John, what else were you doing down there? And that crying jag you just went on. If there's any water left in your body, I'd be surprised."

"How are you feeling today, Mr. Porter," Professor Dumbledore asked. His voice was firm and steady but Henry could see the fatigue in his eyes.

"It must have been a rough few days for him," Henry thought. "What does Dad call it? Being nibbled to death by ducks. It wasn't his fault but that's the price of being in charge."

"I'm fine, sir," Henry said aloud as convincingly as he could.

The headmaster looked keenly at Henry over his half moon spectacles as if he was trying to gaze into the boy's soul and then at Madam Pomfrey. After a moment, he nodded his head sagely.

"Madam Pomfrey assures me that you have come through this ordeal better then could be expected. Once we are done here, you may leave the infirmary if you feel ready to face the world."

Henry took a deep breath. He knew that he would be a nine-day wonder as soon as he left the hospital wing. Everyone would mean well but he did not have the stomach to repeat the story a dozen or so times yet.

"If you are prepared, Mr. Porter," the headmaster began interrupting Henry's thoughts. "I'll draw out your memory of the events."

"Sure," Henry said. "What do I need to do?"

"Just think about what happened," answered Professor Dumbledore raising a glass wand to the side of the boy's head.

Henry started at the beginning when Professor Quirrell had asked for his aid. A blue spot appeared at the tip of the wand and like a mercury-filled thermometer on a hot day, the color expanded across the wand until the wand was a solid blue.

"Sir, I didn't mean to kill Professor Quirrell," Henry said sorrowfully when the headmaster took the wand from the side of his head.

A sad-eyed Professor Dumbledore place a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Henry," he began. "It is not you but me who needs to apologize. I placed you and every other student here in danger. Hogwarts is impregnable from any attack from without but in my ignorance, I invited evil within with nary a second glance. I thought that I knew Professor Quirrell but I was as wrong as I could be about his character. I can only say that I am truly sorry but I know how little that means."

"It was Voldemort that told Professor Quirrell to kill me, sir," Henry said.

"Voldemort!" the headmaster exclaimed as Maggie gasped.

"Yes," Henry replied. "He was living in Professor Quirrell's head."

The headmaster's bushy white eyebrows came together as he furrowed his brow in thought. Voldemort's involvement changed the complexion of the incident entirely. No longer was it a matter of a single teacher going mad. The Dark Lord was once again in Britain and he was well aware of the location of Harry Potter.

He glanced at the glass wand in his hand. Fudge would be a difficult man to convince but maybe watching Harry's memories could persuade him to take the actions needed to stop the rebirth of the death eater movement. If not, there were steps that he could take himself. He turned to leave the hospital ward. Harry stopped him with a question.

"Sir," he asked. "Why did Professor Quirrell burn when I touched him?"

Dumbledore raised the glass wand.

"Perhaps the answers are in here," he said as he walked out of the ward.

Six pairs of surprised eyes watched the professor's abrupt departure.

"That wasn't exactly helpful," Henry said a little hurt at the headmaster's lack of interest in his question.

"It was less then that," Hermione said. "It was a non-answer."

"Huh?"

"It was a way of replying without saying anything," Chris said. "It was just empty words. Mere air."

"The headmaster is a very busy man," Madam Pomfrey said coming to Dumbledore's defense. "And these last three days have been very trying for him. He feels very guilty about having been tricked into leaving Hogwarts leaving Quirrell free to make his move."

"Yes, ma'am," Chris said. It was not an apology but it satisfied the healer.

Barbara made a quick decision. It was obvious that Dumbledore was not going to be forthcoming. Henry had been through a rough experience. Keeping him ignorant as to the reasons behind it would only leave him on shaky ground, hindering his ability to get beyond it. Telling Henry about her speculations may upset him but she was confident that it would give him the understanding needed to lift him past the incident.

"What you need is some sunshine," Barbara said brightly. "How does a picnic lunch by the lake sound?"

A loud grumble from Henry's stomach gave one answer. His mind, however, had a reservation.

"I really don't feel like having people swarm over me," he said. "Even if they mean well."

Barbara smiled. "I didn't think that you would have but I can take care of that. Let me go to the kitchens and get a basket. I'll be back directly. Wait here for me if you would."

Thirty minutes later, she was leading the small party through Hogwarts via some rarely used side passageways.

"Where can we go where no one will find us?" Henry asked. "The whole school's probably outside on a day like this."

"There is a small, secluded meadow hidden by a hedgerow on the far edge of the grounds. A finger of the lake twists around there and the cliffs rise up beyond it. It will be warm and sunny but there are three ancient oak trees and a massive yew to provide all the shade needed," Barbara answered. "At this time of day, no one will be there."

Maggie giggled. "Not at this time of day."

"What's the joke," Chris asked, shifting the huge basket from one hand to another yet again. In irritation, Hermione grabbed one of the handles.

"Come on," Maggie replied. "Even first years have heard of Aphrodite's Grove."

Chris grinned widely. The astronomy tower was Hogwarts most popular make out spot but Aphrodite's Grove ran a very close second. More then once, Chris had returned to Gryffindor tower after a late study session only to wait to before the Fat Lady as some tired but broadly smiling older students picked grass and leaves from one another's hair.

"Why there?" Hermione asked, worried of the teasing they would get if their classmates found out that she had gone there.

Barbara pushed opened a small door and stepped out into the sunlight. Squinting her eyes, she did not see anyone one nearby. She hurried the party across a small expanse of lawn until a mulberry bush hid them. She then slowed her pace to a stroll.

"The grove suits Henry's needs, at the moment," Barbara finally answered. "It is a lovely but lonely spot which people avoid during the day for some reason or another."

"I could not help but notice that your steps are very sure in leading us to the grove," Chris joked roguishly as he eyed her bottom.

"And if they are?" The teenager archly asked over her shoulder.

"A man can dream, can't he?" a rakishly grinning Chris replied.

Barbara stopped walking. She seductively turned. She tantalizingly ran a polished fingernail slowly from Chris' Adam's apple to his chin. "Do you think that you're ready for the top division?" She purred.

The witty reply that Chris had in his head would not come out of his suddenly arid mouth. A dry croak was all that he could manage.

Hermione laughed ruefully at herself after a surge of envy.

"Well, what woman doesn't want to be a siren with the ability to turn men into jelly," she lightheartedly thought as she sat her end of the basket down. "Even a woman like me who wouldn't turn heads in a monastery."

"Barbara, you're only adding to Slytherin's wicked reputation," Maggie laughed aloud.

"Where did you learn to do that?" Hermione asked hoping she did not sound too curious.

"Trust me, Darling, every woman has it within her," she said with a wink.

Having stopped Chris' teasing, Barbara resumed the walk to the grove. Henry fell into step with her. Maggie and Hermione quickly followed, each wondering how to ditch the boys and have a serious talk with the older teenager. Chris brought up the rear carrying the basket by himself and trying to slow his heartbeat.

"Damn," he thought mentally laughing at himself. "What a girl."

Barbara carefully scanned the grove as soon as they passed the hedgerow. She even searched the branches of the trees and the sliver of a sandy beach. No one was there, as she had expected but she wanted to be sure. She did not need any prying eyes around.

The grove itself, for all of its notorious reputation, was rather small being slightly less then an acre and a half in size. In addition to the four large ancient trees, there were perhaps two dozen other smaller trees bordering a small meadow on three sides. A spring noisily poured from between two large boulders. It formed a streamlet that wound its way into an arm of the lake. Tiny fish darted in its shallow waters. A red squirrel chattered at a duck that waddled along the shoreline.

"How about by those rocks," she suggested pointing toward the spring.

Henry and Maggie quickly spread the blanket on the ground. A small feast emerged from the basket. Milk, sandwiches, crisps, pieces of fruit, and an apple pie rapidly disappeared. Conversation remained resolutely light, avoiding Henry's kidnapping. They talked about Barbara's NEWTS, her upcoming training as a healer, and the first formers own impressions of the past year.

"I grew up here," Maggie said. "But actually being a student was so much different. It was weird having mum as _Professor McGonagall_ forpart of theweek."

"I always loved it when people forgot that she was your mother and started complaining about her in front of you," Chris said. "They always would turn the most interesting shades of red when they remembered."

"I miss my parents," Hermione said. "But truthfully, I wish summer break was a month shorter. This year has been so fascinating that I can hardly wait for next term to begin."

"The fun truly begins in the third year," Barbara said. "You get to add two classes of your own choosing and the Hogsmeade weekends start."

"Which two classes did you take?" a curious Hermione asked.

"Care of magical creatures and muggle studies," Barbara replied. "I knew that I wanted to be a healer since I was a little girl and while neither class is required for getting into the training programme at St. Mungo's, I thought that both would help sharpen my empathy."

"What do witches and wizards do for a living?" Chris asked surprised that the question had not occurred to him before.

Barbara laughed. "It always astonishes muggleborns but most magical folk have ordinary jobs. My dad's a farmer as were several generations of Thanes before him. The younger of my two brothers works with dad on the farm. Mum works in a daycare centre. My eldest brother is a helicopter pilot in the Royal Navy. There are after all a million or so of us in Britain. How many Ministry bureaucrats or wand makers can we have?"

"So, Henry," Chris said. "I guess that a wizard raising horses won't be that strange after all."

"Strange or not, that's what I want to do," Henry replied finishing off a bottle of milk.

Barbara tried to perform the spell discretely but Hermione's sharp eyes caught her subtle movements.

"What are you doing, Barbara?" she asked.

"I'm setting up a protective ward to keep busybodies from overhearing us," she replied. "It's a useful charm to know. You can ward your bed when you want to get to sleep in a room full of talking, giggling classmates. It can also keep noises within the confines of a small area which can be useful also on occasion."

"I can see where it would," Chris said evenly but his eyes danced. "You have learned a lot in your time here."

"Everyone gets the same information," the teenager replied putting on the final touches to the enchantment. "What separates the clever from the dullards is how far they take what they learn. If you can repeat the basics of what they taught you, you'll get your OWLs but to get the NEWTs you must be able to go beyond what the textbooks say."

Hermione found herself regretting that Barbara was not in her house. She could have learned a great deal from the older girl if she had had more access to her.

"I'm going to take the first year girls under my wing when I am one of the older students," she vowed. "The house system was supposed to work like that but none of the upper form students had given me more then directions to some room. Directions that were wrong half of the time."

Barbara looked at each of the young students in turn. Her expression was unreadable by any of the kids.

"Henry," she began. "Howfar do you truly trust these three? Don't look scandalized. Just tell me the truth."

The question surprised Henry but he recovered quickly

"I trust all three without reservation," he replied simply.

"I know the three of you love Henry," Barbara said to the others. "On that love, I'm asking you to keep the rest of this conversation locked away."

Barbara moved closer to Henry. She sighed as she took his hand in hers.

"Dear heart, I may be doing you a great harm but Ibelieve that I am doing the right thing. Forgive me if I am wrong. Maggie, there is a photograph below the false bottom of the basket. I snatched it from the trophy room on my way to the kitchens. Hand it here, please."

Maggie's eyes widened then frowned as she extracted the photograph. Wordlessly, she handed it to Henry.

"It's me," he said when he first glanced at it. "No, it's not. I've never worn a Gryffindor quidditch uniform. Is this a trick photograph of some sorts."

"No, it's not," Barbara said. "The boy is James Potter. While he was here at Hogwarts, he was seeker and captain of the Gryffindor house team. He was also Head Boy. After graduation, he married the head girl and together they became two of the foremost fighters against Lord Voldemort. They were killed by Voldemort nearly twelve years ago only three months after their son was born."

Henry passed the photograph to Chris then leaned back slightly as his cousin and Hermione bent their heads over the picture. He stared at the group through narrowed eyes. He could tell by the expressions on the faces of his fellow first formers that the Potter story meant more to them did it did Henry. He had yet to read any of the history books that his cousin had bought.

"I take it that you think that I'm that son?"

Barbara shrugged. "I am not absolutely certain but I am as close as I can get without doing paternity tests. It would explain why Professor Quirrell kidnapped you. Has anyone ever called you Potter besides Voldemort?"

"Professor Snape did," Henry answered after some thought. "And that wand maker in Diagon Alley. Both said it was a slip of the tongue on their part but why would anyone care who my birth parents were?"

"Henry, it's not your birth parents that they are interested in," Chris said looking up from the photograph. "It's you. According to _Modern Magical History, _the three-month old Harry Potter survived a Voldemort killing curse. Voldemort, himself, was all but destroyed when the curse rebounded on him."

"If you are Harry Potter," Hermione said. "Then you're _the boy who lived,_ probably the most famous wizard in Britain."

"Don't forget that Snape was asking me about you also," Chris reminded his cousin.

Henry rubbed his chin in thought. It was tempting to believe Barbara's theory just to give some order to what had seemed like a random event. He had known since he was seven years old that he had been adopted. Unlike some other adopted kids that he had known, Henry had no curiosity about his birth parents. Mom and Dad were Danielle and Robert Porter who loved him and cared for him. What could a total stranger offer him that was better then that?

"What do you think, Maggie?" Henry asked.

She bit her lower lip. Some oddities about their holiday to America were popping up in her mind.

"I thought it curious at the time but mum put a subtle stress on the fact that I was her adopted daughter which she never does when we first arrived at your house in Kentucky. A lot of the conversation thatour mumshad while we were waiting for you and your dad to arrive back at your house centered on being adoptive parents. I just thought that it was a way to put your mum at ease with two strangers but mum might have been fishing for information."

"Granddad found me in a basket on his doorstep," Henry said. "There's not much to tell anyone."

"No one leaves a baby on a doorstep," Hermione said in disbelief.

Chris laughed. "It's part of the family lore, Hermione. Great Uncle Simon loves telling about it. He says that it was his favorite case because he made his niece very happy and he avoided going to jail for the shenanigans he pulled to make it happen."

"_The boy who lived_ completely disappeared," Barbara said. "Being adopted into a muggle family with no connects to the wizarding world would have been a perfect way of doing that."

"Fairly dicey, if you asked me," Hermione said. "Just dropping a baby off on a doorstep and hoping for the best. Henry could have ended up with some horrible people instead."

"Who was James Potter married to," Henry asked.

"Her name was Lily Evans but I don't know what she looked like," Barbara said. "But you really don't care, do you?"

Henry turned his hands up. "I don't mean to be callous but what are they to me? A photograph? A name that someone speaks? My parents are Robert and Danielle Porter. I'm Henry Porter. I'm happy as Henry Porter. Why should I become someone else."

"Because Harry Potter has some serious enemies," Barbara pointed out. "They don't give a damn what you call yourself. You are Harry Potter to them and they will be coming after you as Voldemort and Quirrell just proved."

Henry leaned back against the boulder. There were days that it just did not pay to get out of bed even if you had been asleep for three nights. He closed his eyes and willed his mind empty. He concentrated on the noise of the spring falling across the rocks and splashing into the streamlet.

"Henry?" Barbara asked curiously.

"Just leave him alone for a bit," Chris said. "He's thinking about the problem."

"He's done this before?" she asked, amazed at how easily Henry had slid into a trancelike state.

"Sure, I've seen him do it two or thee times before," Chris assured her. "If something is bothering him, click, he turns out the lights but when he comes around he has an answer to his problem."

They left Henry to his meditations. Quietly they cleaned up the picnic leftovers. After the debris was gone, Chris walked down to the water's edge. The girls strolled under an oak tree and had a quiet, frank discussion about some aspects of sexuality that neither girl's mother touched upon during "the talk." Maggie and Hermione had not known what potent force femininity could be and how far beyond sex that it went.

Chris saw Henry as his cousin stood. He skipped one last rock across the water before heading over to him. He arrived beside Henry at the same time as the girls.

"So?" he asked directly.

"The man with the answers would be Professor Dumbledore," Henry said.

"Well, duh." Chris retorted. "Let's go to his office."

"No," Henry said with a shake of his head. "Voldemort said that I was Dumbledore's greatest weapon. If so, then Dumbledore has need of me and the price of my cooperation will be those answers. He will summon me when he needs me and we'll do some horse trading then."

"But don't you want to know for sure if you're Harry Potter or not?" Hermione asked.

"I know who I am," Henry replied. "What name I was born with makes no difference in that."

Barbara wanted to do a cartwheel in pure joy. The nearly shattered boy of a few hours ago was gone. A resolute young man stood before her. She had made the right decision.

"So now what?" Maggie asked.

"Shall we join the rest of Hogwarts in celebrating the end of classes?" a smiling Henry asked


	19. Chapter 19

Disclaimer: See chapter 1

The Misplaced Potter

Chapter 19

_In which Dumbledore reflects on his errors_

Dumbledore kicked off his slippers as he stretched out on the couch in his office. He held a large shot glass, empty save for three rapidly melting ice cubes, to his right temple. Neither the ice nor the whiskey had any effect on his headache. He did not expect it to have one but the alcohol was relaxing his tense body.

The meeting with the Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge, had not gone as well as he had hoped. Despite viewing tangible evidence that Lord Voldemort was still alive, the Minister stubbornly dug in his heels.

"Look man," he barked. "He's a wisp o'will, less then a ghost. You want me to create a panic in Britain when Lord Thingy is a nothing but a fog barely held together by conscience thought?"

Dumbledore struggled to keep both impatience and condescension from his voice. "Minister, Lord Voldemort is alive and still has followers. That in itself is enough to go on alert. There are means by which he can return to a corporal form. All he needs is some help."

"There are no Death Eaters left. They are all either dead or in Azkaban," Dolores Umbridge said. "He has no followers. No one will aid him."

"I would submit that Professor Quirrell's actions would prove the contrary, Madam Undersecretary." Dumbledore replied simply.

"I don't know what you hope to gain by sounding a general alarm over nothing, Dumbledore," Cornelius Fudge snapped. "Even if the explosion did not finish him off then the Dark Lord is the next best thing to dead. Let's leave him in his floating grave and be done with the entire affair."

"Minister, I found no evidence that the detonation of the mirror killed Voldemort," Dumbledore said slowly. "It destroyed the philosopher's stone and nearly killed young Mr. Porter who did not even catch the brunt of the explosion. I must also point out that Voldemort survived the rebound of his killing curse that he launched against Harry Potter. I present that it is obvious that Voldemort has created a horcrux."

Dolores Umbridge simpered. "A horcrux? That's a spell only found in bad novels. They are impossible to create."

"I doubt if you were even born when I defeated Grindelwald," Dumbledore said hoping a little flattery might help. "I managed that victory only because I discovered his horcrux. They do exist, Madam Undersecretary. They enter the realm of myth because only the darkest, most powerful of wizards would try such an obscenity."

"Who is this Porter kid?" Fudge asked shifting the subject away from any thought of how powerful a wizard Dumbledore was also.

Dumbledore gave him a small smile. "You've turned a deaf ear to one truth," he thought. "You won't hear another."

"A muggleborn," Dumbledore said aloud. "Born here in England but raised in America. Voldemort believed him to be Harry Potter, I suppose because of the similarity of names."

"He isn't _the boy who lived_?" Fudge asked.

"His parents raise horses," Dumbledore answered indirectly. "Neither has an atom of magic in them. Curiously, his first cousin also developed magical talent. We have several muggleborns in this year's first form."

"Too many, if you ask me," Fudge grumbled. "There may come a time when blood doesn't matter for anything."

"We've debated this subject before," Dumbledore calmly replied disgusted with Fudge's prejudices but pleased with the move away from Harry. "But the subject at hand is Voldemort."

"The subject is not at hand, sir. It is closed," Fudge loudly retorted spraying the room with drops of spittle. "Voldemort is not a threat! He cannot come back! He is gone, gone, gone and I, for one, will not have you or anyone else attempting to resurrect his memory for purposes of their own."

Dumbledore glanced up as a shadow fell across his face.

"Drinking doubles alone don't make it a party," Minerva McGonagall said as she sat down on the edge of the couch.

"What?" Albus asked.

"It's just a line from a song I heard years ago," she dismissively replied taking the empty glass from his hand and setting it on the end table. "It popped into my head."

Dumbledore swung his legs around so that she could sit fully on the couch.

"Will you take my word that it was my only one?" he asked.

Minerva laughed lightly as she rested her head against his chest. "If you were going to become a drunkard, I think that you would have managed to have done so sometime in the last one hundred odd years."

Albus wrapped an arm around her as he inhaled deeply. Her perfume and the fragrance of her hair, her mere presence in fact did what the whiskey could not. His headache drained away like an ebbing tide.

"I assume that results of your meeting with the Minister were less then what you had hoped for," she said.

Albus sighed "Less then what I had hoped for but, unfortunately, about what I had anticipated. In his heart, Fudge knows his limitations. He knows that he will be unable to rise to the occasion if events demand it so he refuses to see anything that will upset the tranquility."

"So we have Chamberlain when we need Churchill," Minerva murmured sleepily.

The allusion was an apt one and Albus chuckled lightly in appreciation. One of the many things that he found attractive about Minerva McGonagall was that she shared his deep interest in muggle history. Fortunately, Albus was able to do more then shout dire warnings from the backbenches. He would not play Cassandra to Fudge's Priam.

"I am going to reactivate the Order of the Phoenix," Albus said. "Discretely recruit some new members. We must stay vigilant. Tom will find a way to recreate his body and we must be ready to do battle on that day."

"Any other plans?" she asked.

The old wizard stayed silent so long that she thought that he had fallen asleep. It caught Minerva by surprise when he did finally speak. "There is the problem of correcting my error in handling Harry Potter. In hindsight, it would have been best if I had allowed someone in the wizarding community to raise him even with the risk of creating an egomaniac. You offered to do so. Sirius nearly drew his wand against me when I refused him the babe."

"The Porters did a wonderful job with Henry," Minerva said. "I believe that he is everything that we could have hoped that _the boy who lived_ would become."

"He is completely unprepared to confront Voldemort," Albus replied.

"Albus," Minerva said gently. "You are even blinder then Fudge."

"What?" he said in surprise.

"That child has faced Voldemort twice already," she replied. "Discount the first encounter when he had no control over events and review the second meeting. You have an eleven-year-old boy who had just been kidnapped, tortured, and humiliated lying on a stone floor with a painfully broken ankle. Yet he looked Voldemort in the eye and defied him by throwing his offer of power and mercy back in his face. Even through the pensive, I could feel that Henry fully expected to die yet he still refused to become a servant of evil. That kid is more then prepared to fight Voldemort. All he needs is training, training beyond the Hogwarts curriculum but, first and foremost, you must convince him to return to here in September. Maggie is very worried that he may not."

Dumbledore again fell silent. With his free hand, he slowly stroked his long, white beard as he thought about the Harry Potter problem. After a while, he eased the sleeping, softly snoring Minerva to the couch. He sat down in his favorite overstuffed chair after he had tucked a pillow under her head. There Dumbledore pondered.

The shadows that moonlight gave birth to died as the rays of the morning leaped over the mountaintops and fell through the high windows of the headmaster's office. A few songbirds began to chirp as a high-flying hawk screeched its savage love of the hunt.

Minerva creaked open her eyes. The headmaster was smiling at her from his chair, a steaming mug in his hand.

"Good morning, beautiful," he said as he stood.

"It's too early for blarney," she replied as she sat up. "Even if it is much appreciated."

Albus poured her a mug of hot tea from the pot on his sideboard. He softly kissed her forehead as he handed her the mug.

"This is even more appreciated," she said after a sip. "Did you come to any conclusions or was it a wasted night watching me breathe?"

"There are far worse ways to spend a night," Albus answered as he sat back down in his chair. "But I decided that you and Voldemort were right in what you both said."

Frowning, Minerva took a sip from her mug.

"When did I agree with Voldemort?" she asked.

"You did not but I feel that you are correct about Harry needing training over and beyond his normal classes. He's a bright, hard working young man. I believe that he can handle the extra workload."

"I also mentioned that he was wavering about whether or not he was coming back to Hogwarts," Minerva reminded the headmaster. "After all that he has been through since Halloween, who could blame him if he transferred to Beauxbatons or Salem? Or turn his back on the magical community all together for that matter."

Albus nodded his head. "I have not forgotten that nor have I forgotten the taunts that Voldemort said down in the chamber of the stone."

Minerva mentally reviewed what she had seen in the pensive. She finally shook her head. "I just woke up," she said. "Connect the dots for me."

"Voldemort said that I wasted my greatest weapon by keeping Harry in the dark," Albus explained. "I have concluded that he is right. After breakfast, we shall sit him down and tell him everything."

Minerva eyed the headmaster suspiciously. Albus was a good man but he did not take people into his full confidence. After decades of fighting evil, often alone and far from help, his guarded, esoteric habits had become second nature. He was secretive even with those closest to him.

"Define everything," Minerva asked.

"Everything means everything; that he is _the boy who lived_, whom his parents were, why Professor Quirrell could not touch him. I will tell him that it was I who removed him from the company of wizards and left him on the wrong muggle doorstep. I will inform him of his wealth. What was prophesized about him and Voldemort. I'd tell him what his great-grandmother's favorite tea was if I knew that," Dumbledore said.

"Yes," Minerva said after a few moments thought. "That may be enough to bring him back but keep in mind one thing, Albus. Henry loves his parents and to him that means the Porters not James and Lily. If you try to turn him into Harry Potter, he will walk away without hesitation."

"I would ask that you to keep reminding me of that, Minerva," Albus said with a nod. "I have to gain and keep his trust because I believe what was prophesized by Sybill Trelawney. No one else can stop Voldemort. Harry is our only hope."

"After all that he has been though, he won't give his trust easily," Minerva replied. "If he asks a question, you best be prepared to answer it fully. If he starts believing that you are withholding information from him, you will lose him."

A small smile came to Albus' lips. "I know that I have shortcomings when it comes to being open with those whom I should take into my confidence," he admitted. "But between you and Alastor, I believe that I can overcome that tendency."

"Alastor?" Minerva asked. "Alastor Moody? What are you planning, Albus?"

"Hogwarts is short one DADA teacher," the headmaster replied. "Alastor is disgruntled with the Fudge ministry and so is about to retire."

"You want "Mad Eye" Moody to teach children?" Minerva exclaimed. "He will scare half of them into hysterics."

"Now who is underestimating the students?" Albus asked jokingly. "He will fascinate them and he has the practical knowledge that his predecessor lacked. I believe that he is capable of turning out a generation of formidable fighters against the dark arts and may be able to convince some of those who are wavering between the light and the dark to choose more wisely."

Minerva paused. The staff had often spoken of their fears that an unusual number of students were dipping their toes in the waters of darkness. Although Professor Snape vehemently denied it, most of the students of Slytherin House openly supported the principles that Voldemort stood for if not Voldemort himself. The virus of bigotry was not contained in Slytherin House, by no means. Professor McGonagall had to discipline several of her own pure blood Gryffindors for harsh words or misdeeds toward their fellow housemates that had a muggle parent or parents.

"Will Alastor accept the position?" Minerva asked.

"The opportunity to train _the boy who lived_ right under Fudge's nose will draw him here like a bee to a blossom," Albus laughed. "Even if I could not appeal to his sense of duty and honor. Besides, Harry's eyes intrigue him. I know that he is interested as to how they can be used in combat."

"Does he dislike Fudge that much?" Minerva asked in surprise.

Albus nodded his head sadly. "I'm afraid so and it isn't limited to him. I was speaking with Arthur Weasley last week. That Umbridge woman has become Fudge's hatchet man. She's going through department after department ferreting out those who are "disloyal" to the Minister. Morale at the Ministry is quite low, which is another reason to get the Order of the Phoenix up and running again. The Ministry may not be in any shape to confront Voldemort when the time comes."

"Assuming you get Alastor to accept the job, how many of us are going to train Henry?" asked Minerva.

"You, Alastor, Hagrid, and myself," Albus answered immediately. "As few as possible but between the four of us, there should all the knowledge and skills that Harry will need."

"Hagrid?" Minerva asked in curiosity.

"The man's a ghost in the forest," Albus explained. "Alastor knows how to fight in urban environments but Hagrid knows how in the woodlands. Not all of the Death Eaters will be in London or Manchester and Harry has to be prepared. It will help Hagrid also. After the dragon episode, he has been disheartened. He feels that he has failed Hogwarts and me. Training Harry will let him know better then my words that he still has my confidence."

"That was a good idea of Ron Weasley to send the beast to his brother,"Ron's head of house said proudly.

"Yes, it was," the headmaster acknowledged. "I am glad that he asked what I was going to do with the dragon when I visited them in the infirmary. Frankly, I was at a loss as to what to do with it."

Minerva stood and stretched. "I believe that you have some good proposals, Albus, but first we must secure Henry's cooperation. By the by, you may want to acquire the habit of calling him such. Anyway, we'll see if we can convince him to stay after I take a shower."

Minerva laughed when Albus raised a rakish eyebrow.

"Do you need someone to scrub your back?" he mischievously asked.

"Is my garnet dress still up here?" she asked coyly.

"Yes, it is as well as some undergarments," he replied. "Very convenient, is it not?"

"Very convenient indeed," she replied seductively pulling him up from his chair.

Author's Note: The line quoted by Minerva McGonagall in this chapter is from the song _Sleeping Single in a Double Bed_ written Dennis Morgan and most notable performed by Barbara Mandrell.


	20. Chapter 20

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1

The Misplaced Potter

Chapter 20

_In which much is resolved_

"Thank you for coming" Dumbledore said as Henry emerged from the stairwell into the office.

"Who am I to turn down a summons from the headmaster of the school," the boy joked as he took the extended hand of the professor.

Sunshine poured through a skylight as Henry walked into the room. His eyes drank in the sights. Hundreds of books, dozens of portraits, and strange devices that whirled and clicked without giving Henry any clue as to their actual purpose filled the spacious, multistoried office. A large phoenix eyed him from its perch across the room. The sense of wonder that Henry had felt in Diagon Alley came flooding back to him. He could almost feel the intense crackle of concentrated magic.

"We have much to discuss today," Dumbledore said escorting Henry to a couch where Professor McGonagall was sitting. "It is important that you listen closely and ask any question of me that you have."

"Yes, sir," Henry responded politely as he sat down. "Good Morning, ma'am."

Professor McGonagall poured a mug of tea. "Hello, Mr. Porter. I believe that you will find that it is afternoon now."

"12:03," Henry said glancing at the ornate grandfather's clock near the headmaster's desk. "Good afternoon, then, Professor McGonagall."

"The tea is for you," a smiling Professor McGonagall replied. "Do feel free to indulge in the biscuits."

"If I'm being led to slaughter," Henry said taking a piece of shortbread. "I might as well enjoy the fattening."

Dumbledore laughed choosing to take the boy's words as a joke. "I have the impression that you are not coming into this conversation ignorant," he said.

"I've been doing a lot of reading in the last week, sir," Henry replied. "But let's see if we are all talking about the same thing."

Dumbledore started to speak but stopped before he said anything. Gazing into space, he eased back into in his favorite chair. After a few moments, he suddenly shook his head as a small smile appeared on his lips.

"Pride gets us all," he said ruefully. "My mistakes have brought us to this day and even though I know this, I find it difficult to say so. Silly, is it not."

"Nobody likes to be wrong, Professor," Henry answered. "I mean, who wants to be the fool?"

"No one wishes to appear foolish but acknowledging your mistakes is the first step in correcting them," Dumbledore said. "So we shall discuss several of mine today."

Dumbledore leaned back into his chair. His deep blue eyes peered over his half-moon spectacles as if he wanted to see Henry's soul. It was uncomfortable, almost intimidating, to be stared at so even when there was no malice but Henry tried not to show his unease.

"I gather that you have learned who you are?" Dumbledore asked abruptly.

"I have a fair notion what name I was born with," Henry replied coyly.

"The boy does not give away much," the headmaster thought with approval.

"I have the needed proof but let's not get into evidence at the moment," Dumbledore said. "For the sake of convenience, please accept for the moment that you are indeed Harry James Potter, the _boy who lived_ or, at least, you were born such and as such are one of the wealthiest wizards in Britain."

"Huh?"

"That's the truth but I say it only as an attention getter," Dumbledore chuckled. "The short biography is this; you were born in possibly the darkest days for the British magical nation. In his attempt to gain mastery over us, Lord Voldemort unleashed the very hounds of hell. Murder and terror were the order of the day. Much of the wizarding population was ready to capitulate to Tom just for some hope of peace."

"Excuse me, sir," Henry interrupted. "Who's Tom?"

"I'm sorry," Dumbledore replied. "When he was a student here at Hogwarts, Lord Voldemort was simply Tom Riddle, an orphan born of a witch and a muggle. From the start, he was a subtle bully who delighted in the fear he brought those weaker then him and bending them to his will. As his years here went by, I could see the darkness and lust for greater and greater power grow within him as he increased his knowledge."

"Sorta like Luke Skywalker's dad becoming Darth Vader," Henry said.

"I don't know that reference, Henry," Dumbledore admitted.

"It's from a science fiction film," Professor McGonagall told him. "A trilogy of films to be correct. It is an apt comparison, Mr. Porter."

"That's what it gets me for not having your love of the cinema," Dumbledore said lightly. "Back to the matter at hand, your parents, James and Lily Potter, were among the bravest and most daring of those who actively fought against Voldemort and his Death Eater minions. James was the scion of one of the most prominent and wealthiest families in the wizarding community. Lily was a muggleborn from a very ordinary background who became a truly outstanding witch."

"They were good and brave people," Professor McGonagall injected. "You would have been very proud of them even if I did despair at times that James would never grow up."

"Her pregnancy, needless to say, altered their lives," Dumbledore continued. "Despite the constant danger and the uncertainty of the future, Lily never considered any option but to have you. She and James went into hiding shortly after your birth. Tragically, one they thought was a friend of theirs betrayed them and they were killed by Voldemort himself."

"Yet I was not," Henry said. "This is where the accounts that I've read get murky."

Dumbledore mirthlessly laughed. "It gets murky because this is where I began to make mistakes. Lily defied Voldemort and attempted to shield you. Her sacrifice gave to you a protection that Voldemort did not expect and that oversight nearly destroyed him. This same protection caused Professor Quirrell to burn when he tried to touch you and it was this same protection I sought to use on your behalf eleven years ago."

"With your parents dead," he continued with self-mockery. "It was my brilliant plan to hide you with your muggle relatives. I was going to invoke the ancient shield of bloodlines to keep you safe from the remaining Death Eaters until you came of age."

"Mom and Dad are really relatives of mine?" Henry asked.

"No, Henry," Dumbledore sighed. "They are not. You see, one reason that the plan succeeded so well was that I left you at the wrong house. Even if the Death Eaters had thought to investigate your muggle aunt, you would not have been there for them to find."

He knew that it was rude but Henry could not stop himself from laughing aloud. It was such an improbable mistake for the clever headmaster to make.

"I'm sorry, sir," Henry said. "It's just, well, unexpected."

"Oh it gets better, I assure you," Dumbledore replied candidly. "I thought it best not to draw attention to you by my presence so after I returned clandestinely a few nights later to place the protective enchantments on the house, I never again returned to Little Whinging. I instead installed a middle-aged widow of my acquaintance in the neighborhood to keep an eye on things. I told her to establish herself as the local babysitter but did not, for reasons of secrecy, tell her which child I was truly interested in. As a result, I did not discover my errors for ten years."

Henry knocked a few shortbread crumbs from his lips and took a long sip of tea. A mistake had set him on to a convoluted path to his parents. For that, Henry was grateful but there were some nagging questions on his mind.

"Why all the secrecy?" he asked.

"Voldemort had disappeared but his followers were still legion," Dumbledore replied. "I could not be sure how many of them that he had taken into his confidence. Voldemort was aware that his greatest enemy, the only one that he truly had to fear had been recently born. His attempt on your life marked you as that enemy. What Death Eater would not risk everything to kill you especially after you, unknowingly of course, had nearly killed their master?"

"A grown man," Henry incredulously began, "A full blown wizard feared a baby?"

"A year before you were born, a seer had prophesized your birth and your significance. Voldemort was told of this presage," Dumbledore explained. "Do you know what an avatar is?"

"No," Henry answered.

"In this instance, it means a bodily manifestation," the headmaster replied. "Lord Voldemort views you as the prophesy views you, not as the babe you that you were nor the boy that you are but as his equal, probably his only equal. You are, in essence, an avatar of light in contrast to his avatar of darkness."

Henry frowned. He had entered the room with a certain amount of cockiness but that was rapidly draining away. He thought that his research would have given him the upper hand when talking to the headmaster but the conversation was not going where he envisioned it would.

"What does the prophesy say?" Henry uncertainly asked after a few moments.

"Basically that neither you nor Voldemort can truly live while the other is alive," Dumbledore told him bluntly.

"Why," Henry asked.

Dumbledore raised his hands. "Ying-yang, split souls, Cain and Abel, I just don't know."

Henry lapsed into silence. He struggled with the idea that he was in a kill or be killed situation because of a fortuneteller but Professor Dumbledore seemed to be speaking the truth.

"What is it that you want to do with me?" He finally asked. "Turn me into some kinda of super duper dark wizard hunter?"

"If I could, I would, Harry, excuse me, Henry" Dumbledore replied frivolously but quickly grew serious. "What I would like is for you to return to Hogwarts and complete your education here. I cannot train you as an auror when you are only eleven. You simply do not have the knowledge needed. What I will do is have you learn skills beyond the normal subject matter that will help you stay alive."

"Such as?" Henry asked curiously.

"Hagrid will teach you woodcraft and outdoor survival," Dumbledore replied. "I'll teach you some of the oriental martial arts as well as…what's so funny?"

"Sorry, sir," Henry replied gaining control over his sudden laughter. "Another movie thing. You see in so many kung fu movies an old master with a long white beard doing these impossible feats."

"I cannot say that I have seen any such films but I can assure you that I am the genuine article," Dumbledore replied. "I spent sixteen years in the orient during the last century and have continued to train faithfully since then. I cannot do the impossible but you might be amazed at what the human body is capable of with proper training and practice. There will be times when using magic may not be possible or practical. Besides, I have been given to understand that you are a bit of a fighter already."

"You become one when you are always one of the shortest boys in your school," Henry replied.

"Furthermore," the headmaster continued. "I'll also train you in legilimency and occlumency which is truth reading and mind shielding respectively. I will ask Professor McGonagall here to work with you on becoming an animagus but that will not be for two or three years. You don't have the foundation yet to attempt it."

"Anything more?" Henry asked.

"Hogwarts will have a new DADA teacher in the fall," Dumbledore replied. "His name is Alastor Moody but most people know him as Mad Eye. You'll understand the nickname when you meet him. He has been the ministry's top auror for decades. You and your fellow students will get a very solid, practical education in combating the dark arts from a man with vast experience. He'll work with you on your arcane dueling skills. He also has a synthetic eye so I am sure that you'll learn how to take complete advantage of your own eyes."

"Mister Porter," Professor McGonagall said. "The one thing that you must do is what you have done this year. You must apply yourself to all of your lessons. Lord Voldemort and the Death Eaters are skilled, motivated people with no scruples. You never know what bit of knowledge will be needed at anytime."

"So I come back in September, learn what you want me to and then go defeat Voldemort," Henry said. "Is that it in a nutshell?"  
"No," Dumbledore replied noting the hard edge to the boy's voice. "You come back in September and spend the next six years learning all that you can and then we pray that you are able to defeat Voldemort."

Henry looked at the old wizard. "No guarantees?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "The only guarantee that I can give you is that we will do all within our capabilities to teach you all that you are able to learn."

Henry rested his head on the back of the couch and sighed deeply. "I guess asking 'why me?' is about useless."

"Self pity is unproductive," Dumbledore apologetically replied. "But there has been many times in my long life that I have screamed 'why me?' into the uncaring night."

"Did the night ever give you an answer?" Henry asked rolling his head to one side so he could see the headmaster.

"No. In the end, I just accepted the paradox of the existence of both free will and fate," the ancient wizard responded. "And then I freely accepted that such matters were my fate."

"Is that what I should do?" Henry asked. "Is that what you want me to do?"

"What I want is your dedication to study, your trust in me and your devotion to my cause," Dumbledore said. "What I will accept is your decision. It is your life that we are discussing here, Henry."

Henry sat up straight and ran a hand over his short hair. "I reckon I made my decision in August when I choose to come here. Now, I must deal with the consequences of that choice."

"No, Henry," Dumbledore said. "Free will means that we can change our minds. Each day we can walk down a different path from yesterday's choice."

"Yes but Voldemort knows about me and has tried to kill me twice already," Henry replied shaking his head. "Besides you tell me that I can train to the gills yet still might not beat him in a third fight. If that is the case, I figure that if I don't listen to you and don't learn what you guys want me to then I'd have less chance then a fat man in cannibal country when he does come back for me."

"You will return in September then?" Dumbledore asked trying to keep the elation from his voice.

"Yes, sir," Henry said as he stood. "But I would like to keep the _boy who lived_ stuff buried. I don't want my parents in danger just because they adopted me."

"I have no intention of resurrecting Harry Potter," the headmaster assured him as he also stood. "If it will ease your mind any, I'll travel to your new home and place some protective wards over it this summer."

"I'd be very obliged if you would do that, Professor," Henry told him. "They live in Lincolnshire now."

"I know that," Professor Dumbledore laughed letting his delight show. "I misplaced a Potter. I do not intent to lose track of a Porter. Do you have any more questions? About James and Lily? Your money? Anything?"

"The only real question I had was why they tried to kill me and I suppose that you have answered that the best that you could," Henry said slowly. "I guess there isn't a complete answer to it."

Dumbledore patted the boy's shoulder affectionately as they walked to the stairwell. "Some questions just are not answerable in this life, lad."

Henry paused at the top of the stairs.

"Yes, Henry?" Dumbledore asked.

"I dunno," Henry answered with a shrug. "I suppose I'm kinda of scared to walk out of here knowing what's coming."

Dumbledore grasped the boy by the shoulders. Wisdom and love sparkled in his blue eyes and his voice was firmly confident. "Fear is to be expected, Henry, only the delusional are with out it. Fear is a servant cautioning us to think before we act. It is only when we allow fear to become our master does it harm us."

"Yeah, I know," Henry said. "It's just, I dunno. It just sucks, I guess. Why does anyone want to be able to tell anyone else what to do? It doesn't make sense to me."

"I know what you mean, Henry. All I ever wanted was a scholar's life but Grindelwald was other ambitions. In the end, I had to kill him on a beautiful summer's day," Dumbledore replied casting his mind back to that fateful encounter decades earlier. "His corpse was lying at my feet and I wondered why a man would risk death and disdainfully cast aside such simple pleasures as feeling the warmth of the sun or a good book or love for something as amorphous as power and position."

"I hear you, Professor. All I want to do is raise horses but I can't until this is done with," Henry ruefully said before turning toward Professor McGonagall. "If you don't mind, ma'am, I'd like to write to Maggie this summer. I'm gonna miss her."

"You may do so, Mr. Porter," She said with a nod but the small smile on her mouth was not in her eyes. Minerva McGonagall suddenly saw Henry Porter as potentially something more then just a school friend of her daughter. The boy had an uncertain future, at best, and anyone close to him would be in danger. She made a mental note to herself to keep a very close eye on her daughter's friendship with Henry Porter.

With a determined smile and a wave, Henry disappeared down the stairs.

"A strange boy," Albus said after he heard the bottom door close. "I tell him that he is one of the wealthiest people in Britain and he never once asked about the money."

"No, he's different to be sure," Minerva acknowledged.

Albus caught the tone of her voice and guessed the reason. "They are not yet twelve, dear one. She is his friend and he wants to stay in touch over the summer. It's not as if a wedding is being planned."

"A small breeze is the harbinger of a hurricane," she replied. "I was scarcely thirteen when I fell in love with you."

Albus was surprised. "That almost qualifies as necrophilia for a teenaged girl."

Despite her moody thoughts, Minerva laughed. "Many would think that it would be still if they knew of our relationship."

Albus squeezed her hand with affection gently steering her back to the couch. "One thing that I have learned over my lifetime is that you can not tell anyone whom they should love. A heart wants what a heart wants."

"I know," she replied as she sat down. "And it's likely that Henry and Maggie's friendship will not evolve beyond simply that but the boy will be a lightning rod for danger. Those closest to him will be in peril."

"And our task is to prepare him to face those dangers now that he is committed," Albus saidwalking to the sideboard. "He and Maggie both would be best served by you concentrating on today and leaving tomorrow's troubles until then."

"You're right," Minerva said. "But Maggie is my daughter and _avatar of light_ or not, Henry is still a boy and soon to be an adolescent one at that and that alone is a reason to keep a watch on him. However, as you say, we have much to do over the next six years with young Mr. Porter."

"On that note," Dumbledore said as he mixed some drinks. "I received an owl from Alastor last night. He had some interesting suggestions."

**A/N**: Please forgive the delay in posting this chapter. _Mea culpa._ My only excuse is that the mundane tasks of the everyday intruded upon the fantasy world of fan fiction. The final chapter will be forthcoming in a more timely manner.


	21. Chapter 21

**Disclaimer:** See chapter 1

_The Misplaced Potter_

Chapter 21

_In which our story ends_

"Have you taken a vow of silence, Henry?" Chris asked.

"Just thinking is all," Henry replied watching the Scottish countryside travel past the compartment window. They were returning to London on the Hogwarts Express, their first year of study of the _Ars Magica _completed. Henry's thoughts were scattered. He was looking forward to seeing his new home for the first time yet he was already missing some of his friends from school especially Maggie. The image of her smiling with tears in her eyes as she waved to them from the platform remained in his mind.

"A burden shared is a burden halved," Hermione quoted.

"I have shared with you all that I know," he said. "Several times."

"Do you think that the headmaster shared all that he knew with you?" Hermione countered.

Henry sighed. "Yeah, I do but I still feel as if I were a horse led very carefully to a particular starting gate."

"You believe that Dumbledore has manipulated you?" asked Chris.

"No, not really," Henry answered quickly. "He made some decisions concerning me that I'm not sure that he had any right to but I don't know exactly what his relationship with James and Lily Potter was so I can't be certain of that. He probably did what he felt was best and who am I to say that it wasn't?"

"You were the object of those decisions, Henry," Hermione pointed out. "That gives you the right to question what was done."

"Despite it all being a mistake on his part and whatever his motives, he delivered me up to Mom and Dad," he responded. "For that I am very grateful."

"Your gratitude shouldn't extend to being his willing cat's paw in his battle against Voldemort," Chris argued.

"That choice wasn't Dumbledore's or mine," Henry said forcefully. "I'm in this mess because Voldemort choose me as his enemy due to of the ramblings of some half-baked fortuneteller. He has tried to kill me twice and likely he will keep trying until he succeeds, will me, nil me."

"Or he finally fails in the most absolute way possible," Hermione said quietly.

Henry's stomach immediately tightened as the final moments of Professor Quirrell's life leaped into his mind. Henry was still grappling the fact that he had caused the death of another human being. Henry knew that the professor was trying to murder him. It was also true that cause of death was a protective charm placed on him by his long dead birth mother but it was his hands wrapped around the professor. Henry could still feel the melting tissue of the unfortunate teacher oozing between his fingers. His anguished wails still echoed in Henry's mind. The thought that he would have to kill again because of another's choices sickened Henry.

Chris and Hermione noted the play of emotions that danced across Henry's features. Hermione felt a wave of guilt for causing her friend duress. She was aware of how much the professor's death bothered Henry. Henry was a decent, highly moral boy to whom killing was the ultimate taboo.

"I'm sorry, Henry," she said repentantly. "I shouldn't have said that."

Henry gave her a small smile. "Its okay, Hermione. It is the truth after all and I can't hide from it. I can only wish that Voldemort has a change of heart and decides that he has better things to do with his life other then fighting someone who doesn't want to fight him."

"We'll hope for a road to Damascus conversion for Voldemort but you best learn all that they want you to next year," Chris said.

"And several years beyond that the way that Dumbledore talked," Henry added. "Actually, if it wasn't for the reason behind it, I'd enjoy the extra lessons. Wilderness survival, kung fu, animagus training; all of that sounds cool."

"He will win who, prepared himself, awaits to take the enemy unprepared," Chris quoted. "I wonder if you can con Dumbledore into letting me learn some of that stuff along with you. I would love being an animagus."

"Dumbledore is too secretive," Hermione said although it hurt her to criticize a teacher. "People ferret out secrets but never pause to consider what is right before their eyes."

"What are you getting at?" Chris asked.

"It's simple," Hermione replied. "All of magical Britain is turning over rocks and looking behind bushes to find _the boy who lived _without success because they aren't looking right where he's supposed to be. Dumbledore didn't really hide Henry yet it took Voldemort and Quirrell all year to figure out that the kid in his class was Harry Potter and I believe that they were not truly certain until they had you down in that chamber, Henry."

"Not to sound rude but so what," Henry replied.

"Don't you see?" Hermione asked. "If Dumbledore and the others start giving you private lessons, someone will find out and begin to ask questions as to why but if he announces at the beginning of the year feast that anyone interested in learning unarmed combat such see him and, by the way, Hagrid the groundskeeper is willing to teach woodcraft to any interested student."

"Hide Henry in the open again," Chris laughed.

"As I said, people rarely question what is directly before them," Hermione continued. "Plus, those of us who have an interest in keeping him alive can learn the extra lessons with Henry."

"Oh, you have an interest in keeping me alive?" Henry asked jokingly.

"Yes, I do, Henry," Hermione said seriously. "I do not think that I can express what this year has meant to me. For the first time in my memory, I have friends. This year, I was finally with people my age outside of classes."

"We live together," Chris said. "It would not be possible not to be with you outside of class."

"You do not understand me," Hermione pressed on fervently. "We hung out together beyond the study sessions, beyond classes, beyond sharing a dorm. We talked about things other then our school subjects. You guys threw me a birthday party. That was the first one that I ever had that was something more then my parents and me in a pizzeria. Maggie, Bess, and Bridget were the first girls to sit around with me and simply have a girl talk."

Henry and Chris looked at each other. Hermione's passionate declaration perplexed both of them. Neither could fathom the depth of feeling upon which they had touched. Chris had always been a very popular boy in school. His humorous, gregarious personality, consideration of others, genuine kindness and good looks had drawn his schoolmates to him in droves. Henry, on the other hand, had always been somewhat of a loner. Until this year, he had rarely formed friendships of any depth outside of his family circle. He doubted if anyone in Kentucky even remembered him now so neither boy could understand Hermione's pain.

"Well, we proud to have you as our friend, Hermione," said Henry finally.

"You made all of that possible, Henry," Hermione said.

If he was perplexed before Henry was now completely dumbfounded. Her logic escaped him entirely.

"You gonna have to explain that one to me, Hermione," he said, his confusion evident in his tone of voice. "It's not like I bribed people to be your friend or anything."

"When we were coming to Hogwarts and you were sitting there with a broken hand, I spoke harshly to you," Hermione related as tears welled up in her eyes. "Most people would have told me to stick it and get the hell out of there yet you interceded on my behalf when Chris quite rightly pointed out that I was on the wrong tack. It was a simple act of forgiveness, which allowed me to remain in the compartment. You overlooked my faults and Chris followed suit. Since Maggie was already your friend she included me into the circle and it spread from there. I can safely say that every student in our form in Gryffindor and Hufflepuff is a friend of mine. I, who was friendless, last year, have a score of friends now. "

Chris silently handed her his handkerchief. He tenderlygave her a quick squeezeas Hermione attacked the tears that were traveling down her cheeks. Henry could not relate to Hermione's previous pain but was deeply touched that he was able to do such a great favor for someone with what was to him such a modest deed.

"You're welcome," Henry said. "But I gained a friend that day also so I guess were even. You don't have to do anything for me that you don't want to. You aren't obligated to me."

"I _am_ indebted to you, Henry," Hermione replied. "But I will draw the line at learning outdoor survival with you. I do not care which snakes or grubs are the tastiest and I don't sleep on the ground."

Both boys laughed. Neither could imagine the ultra civilized Hermione roughing it. For that matter, Chris did not have any desire to be anywhere concrete was not underfoot. If he wanted nature, he would go to a park. He loved Henry but they were the epitome of the city mouse and his country cousin.

"I think that you are right about having the extra lessons opened to anyone who wants to learn the stuff," Henry said. "You should send an owl to the headmaster and tell him so. You can say that I agree with you if you think that it would help your case."

"I will," Hermione replied. "I don't think that many will be interested because most of our school mates distain anything that doesn't have to do with magic but all we really need is a half dozen or so in each of the lessons. The idea is to hide you in plain sight after all not the increase of the fund of general knowledge of the Hogwarts student body."

Henry nodded. His face, however, wore a sad expression.

"Do you honestly think that it will do any good?" he asked the others. "Even if I learn what Dumbledore and the others teach me, how much of a chance can I have?"

"Henry," Chris said. "This prophecy business seems a little airy to me but if it is true then it would be like the headmaster told you, Voldemort and you are equals despite the outward appearances."

"I agree with Chris, Henry," Hermione said. "I think that the fact that they wish to train you is evidence that it is not a hopeless cause. If you did not have any chance of victory, they would have left you in the muggle world instead of bringing you to Hogwarts."

Henry turned his head and stared out at the passing scenery. "Yeah, that makes sense," he said before lapsing back into silence.

Chris and Hermione respected his desire not to speak. Instead, they passed the time talking with each other. As they spoke, Chris found himself reflecting on Hermione's earlier comment about being friendless. He found it difficult to believe that no one had made an effort to get to know her. She was highly intelligent yet so easy to talk to and she had so many interesting things to say. Chris wondered if Henry had flared up at Hermione on the trip to Hogwarts, would he have bothered to get to know her or if he would have allowed familial hostility to erect a permanent barrier between them.

"I guess that little things do make a big difference at times," he thought.

"You know, Hermione," Chris said. "I think that you are right. I'm terribly glad that Henry didn't get mad at you. This year would not have been the same without you being our friend."

"Thank you," she replied. "It may not appear to have been much but it had a major impact on my life."

"Yeah, like Dumbledore and grandfather's address," Henry said. "It was a tiny mistake that anyone could have made but who knows what my life would have been like otherwise."

**A/N: **(1) The quote that Chris spoke was from the classic _The Art of War_ attributed to Sun Tzu.

(2) For those of you who have read this story, those who have reviewed it, and those of you who have placed it in favorite files, put it on alert status or included it in a C2 community, my humblest thanks. I have been truly inspired to write by the many notes of encouragement from strangers connected to me only through cyberspace. Bless each and every one of you. Sincerely, Chubby Redburn. Marshall County, Alabama, USA. October 2, 2005.


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